


Mandatory Medical Leave

by RaenUE



Series: Mandatory Medical Leave and others [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: (for like one scene), Alternate title is ‘Azama overthinks things and possibly survives a bear attack’, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt and comfort, a lot more hurt than comfort though, content warnings for emetophobia suicide ideation animal deal and egregious misuse of occultism, there's also some vague and oddly hyperspecific existential stuff as well (as per usual)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 13:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16096220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaenUE/pseuds/RaenUE
Summary: Azama doesn’t ask for much. Beyond his basic needs being fulfilled, the only thing he seeks is a place to meditate. Unfortunately for him, the world has other plans.Inspired partially by Azama’s 5* Level 40 dialogue and primarily by my dubious skill inheritance choices, this is an exploration of the implications of the skill inheritance system and other game mechanics within the world of Fire Emblem Heroes as well as an analysis of a few characters, all through the eyes of Azama.





	1. An Unbearable Experience

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll discuss some things in the notes below each chapter as they become relevant. Most things should become self-explanatory by the end, but I’ll do my best to explain things if I feel they need to be.  
> This takes place shortly after the end of Book 2.

While strictly speaking he didn’t enjoy the actual process of it, Azama did enjoy the benefits of meditation. He felt that was perfectly understandable, as simply sitting in one place, doing nothing but thinking for hours on end was not what most would consider ‘fun’, but being able to sort through his thoughts, one by one, until he was able to clear his mind of worries and doubts allowed Azama to be at peace with himself and the world around him, and he found that sensation immensely rewarding. Even if he was interrupted and unable to fully reach that state of tranquility, it prevented the negative emotions that a solider like him was sure to accumulate from building up and weighing him down as much, allowing him to be even a little bit more comfortable in his day to day life.

To Azama’s displeasure, the castle he had been summoned into was not particularly good for meditating. It _was_ a fairly large building on an equally large plot of land, but that much of space didn’t really amount to a whole lot when the castle housed a couple hundred soldiers, many of whom Azama suspected had never heard the word ‘quiet’ before. He first attempted to meditate in the castle’s library, but in contrast to his expectations it ended up being the furthest from the kind of place he was looking for.

Of course, there were a few people who used the space that stayed quiet; Olwen and Reinhardt spent their time browsing the tomes of the library together, and Katarina -despite her perpetually blank expression- seemed to enjoy spending her downtime looking through the collection’s many chronicles of past wars. Tharja also remained relatively quiet, but her near constant muttering of things Azama dare not repeat unsettled the monk, making it a bit difficult -but not impossible- for him to tune her out and concentrate on his meditation. The library was also where Cecilia and Lilina would teach Nino how to read, a task they gave themselves they learned the young girl -despite what her proficiency with magic would suggest- was illiterate. Raigh, the final semi-permanent resident of the library would try to remain aloof to whatever lesson Nino was being taught and keep his nose in a tome that was indubitably far above his own capabilities, but would often join in and try to help teach the fellow Elibian mage how to read when his curiosity and desire to show off his own skills reached a breaking point.

Azama found no issue with the three of them choosing to use the space to teach the fledgling mage such a fundamental skill, as the library was indeed open to everyone for use, but what Nino’s presence brought was far from desirable. Elise, Delthea, and Nowi -three of the most… enthusiastic members of their army- often came to the library seeking out Nino to partake in whatever games they had come up with that day. He supposed it couldn’t be helped that children would seek each other out, but that didn’t mean that their constant interruptions of his meditation sessions would be appreciated. The only time those three ever left Nino alone to her studies would be when Tharja’s patience wore thin, forcing the trio to flee in gleeful fear to avoid the curses she would start throwing around. While the girls would be out of the library for at least a day following such an incident, the library wouldn’t be safe to inhabit for at least as long, if not longer.

Forfeiting any hope that the library would be of use, a few weeks ago Azama had asked Anna, who was the one in charge of day-to-day operations and spending, if she could look into possibly expanding the castle. She initially seemed reluctant, but today she came to him with a smile on her face, claiming to be bearing what she called ‘good news’.

“I spoke to the zoning council about this, and while it isn’t going to be cheap, we’re already in the process of adding a wing to the castle that’ll be able to house another hundred Heroes or so, which’ll be great for boosting our ranks! All those nasty bureaucrats supporting the Order of Heroes were initially reluctant to foot the bill since they were afraid I would embezzle half the funding again, but there’s no problem that can’t be solved with a little blackmail!”

Azama was unsure how she had so spectacularly missed the point of his request that he couldn’t even act surprised at how fundamentally different this Anna was from the one that had allegedly originated from his own world. This was the exact opposite of what he had intended, and his continued inability to meditate away the stress from all of this was surely going to give him a massive migraine.

“Did I say that out loud? Oops!” Anna put her finger to her chin, letting out a sinister giggle that sent chills through Azama, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about that, since you’re really really hard to dig up any dirt on. Anyway, if you have any other suggestions, I’d be happy to hear them!”

“Ah… that’s… really great. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

At this point he considered going to meditate in his living quarters again, but upon recalling his neighbors he decided to not bother trying. Hector’s room was directly next to his own, and while the young man demonstrated incredible prowess on the battlefield, he was also very, very, very loud at night. Azama had tried to discuss the noise level with him countless times over the previous year, but Hector had either forgotten by the next night or flailed around while asleep to the point where he was nearly constantly knocking things over.

On the other side of his room sat Shigure’s living quarters, which brought its own set of issues. The boy clearly wanted to become a professional singer, but he refused to sing around other people outside of life-or-death situations. In order to get around what seemed to be a pretty prominent issue towards achieving his career goals, Shigure would practice in his room when he thought nobody was nearby. Meditating, by nature, is about as quiet as a single person could get, which lead to many instances where Azama’s meditation was interrupted by the melodious sound of Shigure’s voice coming through the wall, thinking he was alone in the residential wing. Azama couldn’t justify trying any course of action that might make Shigure’s apparent stage fright any worse, so he couldn’t possibly tell the child to stop singing, but that also meant that Azama wouldn’t be able to use his room for meditation at any hour of the day.

Desperate for a place that was quiet and tired from his now year-long search, Azama then opened himself to the possibility to utilizing the great outdoors. Knowing it would be too loud near the castle from the many people who chose to use the space for training, he began searching the surrounding woods for a suitable location. Azama walked, and walked, and walked for hours, but he couldn’t seem to find a place that worked. In the places where the growth wasn’t too dense, there was either someone already training in solitude, signs that the area was frequented by animals, or ground that wasn’t suitable for sitting upon for an extended period of time. He resolved that if he didn’t find one by the time the bell for dinner rang, he’d accept that it just wasn’t meant to be and move on his life.

Just as the sun began to set, Azama thought he had found the perfect clearing for meditation; it was level, free of animal tracks and debris, and close enough to the castle to head back if urgent matters came up but not so close as to be too exposed to the cacophony of the army’s dutiful training. It seemed almost too good to be true, but he figured there was no point in not trying it out after coming this far.

He took a seat, allowing his body to relax a bit.

A deep breath in and a slow exhale let some tension leave his body.

He closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and relaxed a bit more.

Taking another deep breath, he began to tune out the sounds of the world around him.

The gentle breeze rustling through the trees, and the faint sounds coming from of the castle soon began to fade out, as Azama-

*THUD*

Azama flinched, having not expected such a loud noise to disturb him. He debated ignoring it, but another thud, followed by yet another coming in front of him, almost in rhythm, piqued his curiosity.

He cracked open a single eye, expecting the sound to have been nothing of importance and that he’d be able to return to his meditation in a moment.

To his dismay, it wasn’t nothing.

It was a very large grizzly bear, waddling in his general direction.

That was nearly the antithesis of ‘nothing’.

“Oh dear,” Azama muttered, making eye contact with the hulking beast. Based off the amount of drool pouring from its mouth and the feral, bestial look in its eyes, the bear seemed very hungry, and Azama could only guess that he would look particularly delicious to any starving animal, let alone one that could easily take him down given the chance to.

As if by divine inspiration, he recalled a quarrel he overheard two of the Valentian recruits have a week ago over the differences between what you should do when approached by different types of bears. He slowly rose to his feet, knowing that playing dead would be a quick way to meet an untimely demise at the hands of this particular species of hungry ursine. He maintained eye contact with the bear as he began to back away in the direction of the castle, careful to not allow his attention to falter.

That ended up being a mistake, as in his focus on the bear he failed to notice a root protruding from the ground which Azama promptly tripped over, causing him to tumble to the ground and curse his lack of foresight for putting him in this position without a weapon.

The moment he hit the ground, Azama instinctively clawed has way to his feet and broke out into a full sprint, refusing to give the bear a chance to exploit his moment of vulnerability. He ran towards the castle, each step of the way echoed by the heavy thud of the bear’s paws hitting the ground behind him as it gave chase, determined to not let its prey escape. Azama had long ago come to terms with the possibility of his life coming to an end on the battle field, but getting mauled by a bear? While being impaled didn’t particularly strike him as a fun activity, getting eaten alive was even higher up on his list of things he’d describe as so fundamentally unpleasant he’d rather die.

After feeling like he had run for hours on end, scratched all over from the branches and shrubs he hadn’t quite dodged along the way, Azama broke through the tree line around the castle with the bear hot on his heels. In the distance, around half a kilometer away, he could barely make out Hinoka and Setsuna along with a few other members of the Order of Heroes backlit by the setting sun, possibly having a pleasant evening chat, but when Azama opened his mouth to yell, to scream, to do anything to get their attention, his throat was too sore to make any noise. Cursing his voice for failing him the one moment he needed it most, he began to pray to any deity that would listen for somebody to notice his predicament. As if on cue, Setsuna turned towards him and Azama cursed himself for not specifying to whoever had listened to his pleas that he needed someone who would realize the urgency of the situation within the next decade.

Hinoka must have noticed Setsuna’s gaze wander, as she turned to follow it. Upon realizing one of her retainers was moments from being eaten by a ravenous bear, she mounted her pegasus and made haste towards Azama.

Time seemed to slow for the monk as he realized that he legs were beginning to fail him, just moments from being saved by the very person he should be protecting. Hinoka seemed to grow further and further away as his vision began to fade out, but Azama refused to let his pace falter, letting out one final burst of speed and jumping to grab Hinoka’s outstretched hand as she flew overhead.

Hinoka immediately ascended, pulling Azama out of the reach of the bear before she dragged him up onto the pegasus’ back. Angry that its meal escaped its grasp, the bear let out a loud roar before returning to the forest, leaving Hinoka to bring Azama back to the castle.

“How did you manage to get yourself into this mess?” Hinoka asked him, trying to fill the quick journey back with something other than silence.

“Bad luck,” Azama managed to get out between labored breaths, each exhale causing pain to erupt in his chest.

Upon making it back to the castle, Hinoka helped him down from her steed, but the moment his feet touched the ground he collapsed and began to retch. His stomach began to churn, and -despite his best efforts to- he was unable to prevent its contents from violently ejecting itself through his mouth. The vomit splattered against the ground with a sickening ‘squick’ noise, causing Azama to lose whatever remaining control he had over his nausea.

“Are you alright Azama?” a voice asked, his head too rattled from trying to process everything that just happened to determine who had spoken.

“No!” Azama gasped, continuing to empty his stomach.

“I have some medicine for this type of ailment in my room, can you run and get it, Lukas?”

“Sure! Should-” Azama stopped putting any effort into processing what was going on and let whatever wretched thing was happening to his body run its course. The vomiting eventually ceased and turned into dry heaving, his throat and mouth still burning from the acid and bile that had passed through it. The disgust, the inalienable feeling of vileness from having things traverse his throat in the wrong direction lingered as the tremors wracked his body, but the heaving gradually weakened, allowing Azama to slowly regain awareness of his surroundings.

“Azama, can you hear me?”

“Ye-yeah,” he sputtered, having still not quite regained his lucidity.

“How are you feeling?” Azama recognized that this voice belonged to Wrys and felt a twinge of guilt.

“I’m alive, at least,” Azama let out a weak laugh, for a reason he couldn’t figure out. Was he trying to play this off as something that wasn’t a big deal? Was he trying to add levity to the situation? Azama pushed those thoughts from his head, telling himself that it wasn’t a question he needed an answer to right now.

“Is it alright if we bring you to my room?” the older monk asked, his words slow and gentle, “I’d like to try to figure out if we can get you to feel a little better.”

“Sure,” Azama realized his legs still felt like jelly, and added “…not sure if I can walk though.”

True to form, Azama was still hunched over on the ground in the middle of the puddle of vomit, and without outside intervention he wasn’t going anywhere.

“That’s fine,” Wrys smiled softly, draping Azama’s right arm over his shoulder “Zelgius, can you lift Azama from the other side?”

“Sure thing,” he slipped under Azama’s left arm, and together they were able to hoist Azama up off the ground.

“Is there anything I can do?” Hinoka spoke up, reminding Azama of her presence.

“I think Alfonse needs to know about that bear as soon as possible so he can inform the rest of the army to stay away from that part of the forest. We were lucky today that nobody died, and I’m sure I’m not alone in wanting to keep things that way.”

“I can do that!” Hinoka hopped back on her pegasus and flew off, leaving Azama alone with Wrys and Zelgius.

“Are you ready to go, Azama?”

Azama nodded weakly, too exhausted to make the words come out, and the two men carried him off towards the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be saving most of my commentary until the end, but I’ll still do my best to cover some of the more urgent things I feel the need to explain or comment on.  
> For the most part, I’m writing this as if it’s happening when I originally post it and that the sequence of events within Heroes’ world corresponds to updates within the game, but I toy with the timing of some things in order to make the plot flow a little better. You’ll probably figure out where that happens on your own, but I’ll discuss it (and most other things) in depth as the last chapter (the character limit for notes is somewhat... inconvenient).  
> Long things take a long time to write (did you know Microsoft Office keeps track of the total time a document has been open?), so there might be a few things that seem out of date that I ended up missing when I went back through this to update it, and a few things that might seem pretty obviously added in after the fact.  
> Did you know stress and sudden exertion can induce vomiting? That’s why Azama spends a few paragraphs emptying his stomach. Ew.  
> Parts of this chapter were inspired by something that almost happened to me in middle school and a shitpost that I had written elsewhere. Can you guess which? (it’s the bear encounter)


	2. A Study On The Therapeutic Effects Of Half-Dried Paint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter: Azama was attacked by a bear while trying to meditate and did not enjoy the experience.

The trip to Wrys’s quarters was slow, and by the time they arrived Azama had regained some of the feeling in his legs. Wrys put in a good effort in lifting him, but it was almost painfully evident that Zelgius was doing the bulk of the work.

“Lukas! If you’re in there, we need you to get the door!” Wrys raised his voice, not quite enough to be a shout, but enough that anyone inside would have heard him.

The door opened a few moments later, and Lukas stuck his head out, “I wasn’t able to find the- oh,” he looked down at Azama, then opened the door all the way, allowing the Zelgius and Wrys to carry him in.

On the way to place him onto Wrys’s bed, Azama caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and winced. He was a mess. He was covered in scratches, his face was twisted into a halfhearted grimace from the lingering disgust he felt from the vomiting fit, and what remained of his clothes was caked in blood and partially digested foodstuffs.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already sent Setsuna to grab you a change of clothes from your room,” Wrys said. He and Zelgius lifted Azama onto his bed, “She should be here any moment now.”

“Ah… Thanks.”

“It’s not a problem. I’d like to get this out of the way now,” Wrys started sorting through some bottles on a shelf, before grabbing a couple and bringing them over to the bedside table, “Lukas and Zelgius have expressed an interest in seeing how I practice medicine, and I wanted to know if you would be okay with them observing. Please, don’t feel obligated to agree.”

“I don’t think that’s-” Zelgius started to speak, but Azama cut him off.

“It’s fine. Just… leave when I’m changing out of these clothes.”

“Are you sure?” Zelgius remained uneasy, looking away.

“Yeah, I… really don’t care.”

Azama lied, not wanting this to take longer than it needed to.

“Wrys?” Setsuna stood in the doorway, “I brought the clothes.”

“Please put them on the dresser,” Wrys began searching through a cupboard.

“Thank you, Setsuna,” Azama said.

Setsuna looked at Azama, her eyes a little more open than they usually were, “I, uh, hope you feel better.”

“Yeah, I do too,” Azama laughed, surprised -yet glad- that she seemed to be aware of what had just happened for once.

Setsuna left, and it occurred to Azama how small the room was with four people in it. Even without his armor Zelgius was a very large man, and Wrys’s small stature still took up considerable space in a room that was designed for at most two people at a time. Lukas wasn’t particularly large or particularly small, but when combined with two others and all the furniture, the modest room quickly moved from cozy to cramped.

“So, to explain what I’m going to do here: first Azama will get out of those ruined clothes and clean himself up a little,” Wrys addressed Lukas and Zelgius, “This isn’t going to have much medicinal value per se, but it’ll make it easier to treat his wounds and if nothing else, it’ll hopefully help Azama feel a bit more comfortable,” Wrys turned back to Azama, “Right?”

Still a little dazed, it took Azama a moment to realize what Wrys had said.

“That sounds good.”

“Great! Lukas, can you grab a wash basin and fill it with water from the cistern down the hall?”

The Valentian knight perked up, clearly excited to be of assistance, “Sure! I can do that!”

“I should probably go as well; it’ll be a two-person job once it’s full,” Zelgius said, leaving before Wrys had a chance to respond.

“I’m glad they’re excited about helping,” Wrys resumed his search through the cabinet, “It took far longer to perform medicine when I had to do it on my lonesome back at the monastery.”

“Should I start changing now?”

“If you’d like,” Wrys pulled a mortar and pestle out of the cupboard, “I’m going to start mixing a few herbs that’ll calm down your stomach in the meantime.”

Azama slowly swung his body so his legs hung off the bed and used the nightstand to steady himself as he stood up. Azama’s legs wobbled, still sore from the marathon he ran earlier, and he decided it may be for the best to shed as much clothing as he could while still seated, plopping back down onto the bed.

“Do you need any help? This mixture can wait.”

“I think I’m fine for now. I might need assistance with my trousers.”

Wrys nodded in acknowledgement and began to mash some herbs together, leaving Azama to disrobe on his own.

“This is mostly to satisfy my own curiosity, but do you have experience working with herbs?” Wrys spoke up after a few moments, a little louder than before so he could be heard over the clash of ceramic.

“Not exactly. I’m a monk by trade, and in Hoshido we have apothecaries who specialize in herbal remedies.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that.”

“Mhmm. The main issue, I suppose, with apothecaries is that their means of healing aren’t immediate, so there isn’t as much demand for them in our military. You find a lot more apothecaries in villages, where you don’t have reliable access to healing staves and herbs are far more abundant.”

“Most people in Archanea know how to identify herbs with medicinal effects, so they typically don’t need to use staves unless their wounds are very serious.”

“That seems like it’d be convenient, but earlier you made it sound like you did this kind of thing often.”

Frustrated with attempting to preserve a change of clothes which was probably beyond saving, Azama decided to cut his losses and began to tear his clothes off. If that young prince of Nohr had been summoned -Forrest, was it?- he may have been able to repair these rags, but it still would have been impossible to get the stench of vomit out.

“Before coming here, I had started a monastery where I looked after children orphaned during the war, so I had no shortage of scratches and scrapes to treat.”

“Ah,” Azama sat on the bed, his upper body freed from the confines of his ruined outfit, “if you have a moment, I will need some help with-”

Someone knocked on the door, and Lukas’s voice echoed from outside, “Is it alright for us to enter?”

Wrys looked to Azama, who nodded in agreement.

“Come in!”

Lukas opened the door, allowing Zelgius to singlehandedly carry in the basin filled with water, “Where would you like this?”

“Anywhere that is out of the way would be fine for now,” Wrys walked towards Azama, holding a bowl with some sort of paste in it, “While you two were gone, I’ve made a mixture of ginger, chamomile, and peppermint to help reduce nausea, and some concentrated willow extract for pain relief. The bulk of Azama’s illness seems to have run its course, but this should help him feel a little less… ‘unclean’, for lack of a better term. The texture isn’t exactly pleasant, but it does its job well enough.”

With a shrug, Wrys handed the bowl to Azama.

He looked down at the paste and almost gagged. Wrys had said that its texture wasn’t pleasant, but Azama hadn’t prepared himself to eat something that looked like half-dried paint. It was lumpy and flaky in all the wrong ways, and he doubted that this could do anything but make his nausea worse.

Wrys continued his lecture, oblivious to Azama’s distress, “The main issue with vomiting is that there are a lot of things that can lead to it, so it’s hard to diagnose the exact cause. Azama, did you eat anything strange or unusual today?”

Azama continued starting at this… concoction that he was supposed to be consuming, “Not yet.”

“That narrows things down quite a bit. Is it possible you had motion sickness?”

“No.”

“And you haven’t fallen ill recently?”

“No.”

“Just to make sure, have you been pregnant recently?”

The brashness of Wrys’s question threw off Azama, “As far as I’m aware, I can’t be.”

‘Was that an attempt at humor…?’

“Alright, then. I think that for now the best guess I can give for the cause of your symptoms is either stress or exertion. I can talk to Kiran and Anna about giving you some time off, since the only real ‘cure’ for what you’ve gone through is to rest and recover,” Wrys paused, noticing Azama had yet to touch the paste he made, “You don’t have to eat that if you don’t want to, but we can still brew some tea with those ingredients if you think it’d be more palatable.”

Azama breathed a sigh of relief, and placed the bowl on the nightstand, “That would be nice, I think.”

“Lukas, Zelgius, can you head next door and ask Felicia to brew some tea with these ingredients? She should have all the equipment you’d need, and I’ve asked her for help with this in the past, so she should understand what it’s for,” Wrys grabbed a few more jars from the cabinet and handed it to Lukas.

“Sure thing,” Lukas was out the door in a flash.

“Actually, Zelgius,” Wrys spoke up, prompting the knight to turn around, “It may be better for you to brew the tea yourself. Felicia is a bit…” Wrys paused for a moment, deciding how best to mince his words, “She tries her best, but I think it may go smoother if you two handle it. Try framing it as me wanting you two to learn how to make medicinal tea.”

“Ah… of course,” Zelgius shut the door behind him and almost immediately a crash could be heard coming from next door.

Azama flinched from the noise, “I can admire her tenacity despite how the universe seems to actively prevent her success, at least.”

“That’s… one way of putting it,” Wrys turned back to Azama, “So, would you like to try to save the rest of your clothes,” he glanced towards the pile of torn fabric on the ground, “or were you planning on discarding them?”

“It’s not worth the effort.”

“Okay! What would you like help with?”

Azama thought about what would be the easiest way to go about removing the rest of his clothes, “Not falling over, I guess.”

“Then would just holding you in place work?”

“Sure.”

The older man helped Azama up, his weathered hands rough on Azama’s skin. The close contact was far more intimate than he was used to, and it being from Wrys of all people saddled Azama with a number of complicated emotions. As Azama bent over, Wrys’s hands holding him steady as he pushed the remains of his tattered clothes to the floor, Wrys continued to speak.

“I should probably preface this by admitting that I may not be the best judge of this, since we haven’t spoken much before today, but you do seem very… stressed. It may just be because of the ordeal you went through earlier today, but is there something that’s been bothering you?”

Azama paused, standing there in just a loincloth with the remains of his robes at his feet. Wrys’s concern was genuine, and when it came down to it, that only made it hurt more. Azama wasn’t ready to discuss the primary source of his discomfort with Wrys, let alone with Zelgius and Lukas potentially within earshot, but he figured he could at least admit why it has blown up into such a monumental source of stress to placate Wrys’ curiosity.

“I… meditate as a means of relaxation and of sorting through my thoughts, but it’s so noisy around the castle that I haven’t had the chance to do so since I arrived.”

“Hm…. That does sound like it would be stressful, especially since you’ve been here for a few months, no?” Wrys helped Azama step out of the pile of fabric on the floor, and then let him return to sitting on the bed, “Did you want to change your undergarments? I’d like to disinfect your wounds before healing them, and I’ll need to have access to them, so I’m going to have to ask you to wait before fully redressing.”

“Ah… that’s fine, I guess.”

“Will you need me to hold you steady while you change?”

“I’ll be fine, I think,” enough strength had returned to Azama’s legs at this point for him to not immediately fall over.

“Okay, I’ll grab it for you and start mixing the antiseptic, if you’re alright with me staying in the room…?”

If Azama was being completely honest, he would have preferred the other man to be leave the room, but a moment of heightened discomfort now was well worth it if it got him out of this situation quicker.

“Just… face the other way, please.”

Wrys nodded and started looking through the fresh pile of clothes Setsuna brought.

“It’s the long, straight piece of fabric,” Azama spoke up, having realized Wrys was probably thinking of a completely different type of undergarment.

“Ah, here it is!” Wrys fished out the long cloth and brought it over to Azama, “I guess it never occurred to me that underwear could vary in form to such a degree.”

“As far as I’m aware, Hoshido and some of the surrounding countries are really the only places that use this kind of style,” Azama grabbed it from Wrys, “But, then again, I haven’t exactly asked others what they wear so it may be more common than I think.”

Wrys turned back to the cabinet, grabbing two jars with some sort of liquid, and brought them back to the counter he was working at earlier.

“Do most of Hoshido’s clothing take some time to put on? I noticed that it took you a while to remove the upper part of your robes, and I’m not exactly sure how quickly you could wrap that cloth around yourself.”

Slowly rising to feet, it occurred to Azama that he had never really thought about it in that way. Wrys began to whisk the two liquids, causing the strong odor of alcohol to fill the room. The scent made Azama begin to feel a little lightheaded, prompting him to start changing before his legs gave out again.

“Now that you mention it, all of our clothes _are_ a bit more complicated than they really need to be.”

Azama stopped speaking for a moment, having to hold the fabric in his mouth for moment while he wrapped it around his midsection.

“I suppose that it might be the product of us placing some sort of heightened value on tradition, and as a result traditional clothing, but I guess not enough people feel inconvenienced by the amount of time it takes to dress to want to develop some other sort of fashion.”

He paused again, focusing on winding up the ends of the fabric.

“Then again, I think would’ve appreciated this process being a bit easier…”

“Hm? Are you sure you don’t need assistance?”

“I’m almost done.”

“Speak up if you change your mind.”

Azama put the finishing touches on his underwear, adjusting how it wrapped around his body until it was snug enough for him to be satisfied. He sat back down, feeling a tiny bit more comfortable, and resumed talking.

“It’s called a fundoshi, by the way.”

“Come again?”

Why had he opened his mouth to try to make small talk with Wrys, and about underwear, no less? He barely knew the man, and while it was in some sense a topical subject this wasn’t exactly the time to discuss such things. But it was too late to back out, so Azama continued, vowing to hold his tongue should the opportunity to delay his escape from this situation arise once again.

“My underwear. This style is called a fundoshi. It’s a bit more complex than a traditional loincloth, but it tends to stay in place a bit better so it’s more appropriate for people who would be moving around a lot.”

“Ah. I was wondering if you had a specific word for it.”

Their idle chatter died down as Wrys continued to mix the two liquids and Azama rested on the bed. The metal of the whisk clashing against itself and the fluid churning were the only sounds that filled the room until Wrys once again began to speak.

“I’m not sure if it’s the kind of place you’re looking for, but they’ve been constructing a new wing of the castle, and since it’s close to completion you may be able find a quiet spot to rest.”

“Thank you,” Azama wasn’t quite unsettled by Wrys’s continued concern, but he, in a way, still felt the attention was undeserved, “I’ll look into it.”

“It’s on the north side, in case you haven’t seen it yet.”

Azama grunted in acknowledgement. He took the moment to relax, well aware that once the actual treatment began he’d likely not get a single moment to rest. He glanced towards the mirror Wrys had on the wall, taking in his own appearance again. With his clothes removed, the actual extent of the damage to his body was much clearer. Without his torn robe to frame each and every wound, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it initially appeared to be, but it still looked like it hurt quite a bit. Most of the scrapes and scratches were restricted to his limbs, but there was a particularly nasty-looking gash that had thankfully just barely missed his eye, and another that ran across his chest, and he wondered how he could have failed to notice whatever it was that caused them. The bleeding had stopped from all but the largest wounds, but his entire body was still caked in dried blood and, in a few places, vomit. He had to admit that it looked far more painful than it actually was, but that could simply be attributed to his body’s high pain tolerance. He couldn’t imagine many other people in the castle being able to ignore that much pain, so perhaps it was for the best that he of all people ended up having to run from that bear. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever was to come, and spoke up.

“I’m ready.”

Wrys put down the bowl and whisk, “I’ll go see if they’re done with the tea.”

 He left the room, returning with the two a few minutes later. Zelgius was carrying a tea kettle which he placed on the counter, and Lucas held a few teacups.

“So,” Wrys continued his lecture, “the first thing we’re going to do is some preliminary cleaning of your wounds, so we can have better access to them when we disinfect them. While you two had stepped out, I mixed an antiseptic solution of diluted alcohol and concentrated willow extract.”

“I don’t drink.”

“That’s not a problem; we’ll be applying the antiseptic to your wounds directly. The main issue with antiseptics is that they sting quite a bit, so some sort analgesic agent is typically combined with it to reduce the pain. In this case, I’ve used willow extract, but there are a few other things that can also be used. Lukas, if you could bring Azama a cup of tea, and Zelgius, if you could help me move this basin closer to the bed, it would be greatly appreciated. Azama, could you lie back down on the bed? It’ll make washing your limbs easier.”

Azama shifted his weight, swinging his legs back up on the bed as they all went about their given tasks.

“Zelgius, could you begin washing Azama’s legs? There should be a cloth you can use on the chair by the desk. I’m going to find the applicator for the antiseptic.”

“Sure thing,” the knight grabbed the chair, swinging it over so he could sit facing the bed.

Zelgius began to run the washcloth, now moistened from being placed in the basin, up and down Azama’s legs. His grip was firm, far firmer than that of Wrys’s weathered hands, and while it wasn’t exactly rough, it reminded Azama of how exposed, how fundamentally helpless he was in this position. Here he was, lying in an acquaintance’s bed, wearing next to nothing, being washed by yet another stranger. Azama, once again, found the amount of attention he was getting to be incredibly unnerving. He wasn’t used to being the focus of the hustle and bustle of the efforts of others, and while he knew that these men both meant no harm and had no real reason to cause him any, he couldn’t help but feel like he was on some level more vulnerable than he had ever been before.

“Here’s your tea, Azama,” Lukas appeared beside the bed while Azama was lost in his thoughts.

“Ah, thank you.”

He grabbed the cup, a simple ceramic mug, and took a sip. The tea was bitter, yet sour, yet earthly, yet cool; the mixture of tastes had no real dominant flavor, and the flavors themselves were muted enough to not be overwhelming. Taking another few sips, Azama was impressed how quickly his nausea had begun to recede, and he made a mental note to consider learning more from Wrys about different herbs.

“Should I start on Azama’s chest, Wrys?” Zelgius spoke up, having finished rinsing his legs.

“If that’s alright with Azama,” Wrys brought the bowl of antiseptic and a few things Azama couldn’t quite make out over to the bed, “I’d like to begin applying the antiseptic.”

“Go ahead.” Azama downed the rest of the tea and placed the mug on the nightstand.

Wrys took the chair from Zelgius, who moved up towards Azama’s chest.

“This will hurt a bit, but it’s important to do this so you aren’t at risk of sepsis.”

Azama looked down, beyond Zelgius’ hands washing his chest, towards Wrys preparing to treat his legs. Wrys held a small ball of cotton with a pair of tweezers, dipped it into the antiseptic mixture, and slowly brought it to one of the cuts on Azama’s legs. The moment the ball contacted his leg a bolt of pain coursed through his body, causing Azama to wince.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Azama grit his teeth, knowing that delaying the inevitable wasn’t worth the effort. If he could get through this sooner, it’d be all the better.

“Please continue.”

Wrys hesitated, probably unconvinced that Azama was indeed alright, but he relented and continued his treatment. The pain was sharp, and since it was the first time Azama had really experienced such an acute, burning pain it took him a while to adjust to it, but it eventually dulled, letting Azama relax and just let the treatment run its course. Zelgius eventually moved up to wash his face, Wrys following his way up Azama’s body. Time passed, the treatment continued, and Azama was able to tune out everything that was going on.

 

Wrys eventually placed his hand on Azama’s shoulder, gently shaking him as he spoke.

“Azama? Are you awake?”

It took Azama a couple seconds to snap out of his reverie, but he nodded in agreement. As his awareness of the room returned, he noticed Zelgius and Lukas had already left, leaving the two monks alone in Wrys’ room.

“How are you feeling?”

Azama took a moment to take stock of his condition instead of giving his default response of ‘I’m okay’. His legs were still sore from overexerting them in his escape from the bear, but beyond that, he felt relatively close to ‘normal’. The stinging of his wounds had receded, and the smaller scratches looked like they had already begun to heal. The gash on his chest was still there, and a glance at the mirror revealed that the one on his face was still present, but he could heal those himself later if it came to it.

“Better.”

“That’s good. I didn’t know if you wanted me to heal the larger cuts using magic, so I was waiting for you to wake up, but I sent away Zelgius and Lukas because it was getting late and I didn’t want to disturb your rest.”

Azama looked out the window, judging by the darkness outside that it was a few hours past sundown. “Are there a lot of people who opt out of being fully healed?”

“Some people view the scars as a kind of trophy, or a reminder of something they don’t want to forget, and I didn’t want to make that decision for you.”

“I… Thank you. I’m fine with being healed now, if it’s not too much to ask.”

“Sure thing,” Wrys stood up, grabbing a staff from the desk, “I only have a recover staff, so it’s not going to be fast, but-”

“Please, take your time.”

Wrys smiled, holding the staff above Azama, and began to chant. A warm glow fell upon Azama, bathing him in a light warmth. When it receded, the smaller scrapes and scratches had all but disappeared and the wound on his chest began to close on its own. They repeated this process a few more times, gradually closing his larger wounds until they too had disappeared, all visible traces of the events of the afternoon gone from Azama’s body.

“That should do it,” Wrys said, placing the staff back on the desk, “Would you like to rest a bit more, or should I bring you to your room?”

“Ah, I should probably get dressed first, but I think I’m ready to head back.”

“Would you like help?”

Azama swung his body around so he was resting on the edge of his bed. While his legs were still sore, enough strength had returned to them for him

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Wrys placed the clothes Setsuna had brought onto the bed, “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

As Azama began to dress himself, Wrys started to tidy up the room. Going at a leisurely pace, Azama noted that the remains of the outfit had been removed and brought it up with Wrys.

“Ah, yes. Lukas brought that to the incinerator. He mentioned that he knew the person on duty tomorrow, and that they’d be able to handle it without a problem.”

Azama began to idly wonder who that person could be. Since it was such a specialized job, the only people who would be assigned to incineration duty were adept fire mages. He pitied whoever that ended up being but running though the list of people who’d be picked for it in his head, a single name stood out as someone who he’d rather it not be and, as if the world sought to spite him, they were the only one that Azama could think of Lukas being acquainted with.

That young Valentian priestess -princess, Azama corrected himself- would no doubt recognize that the shredded remains of his outfit belonged to him and seek him out to confirm that he was alright. Her concern for others was touching, but he could tell that she primarily expressed it to divert attention towards others, even if she herself wasn’t aware she was doing it. He felt that they weren’t too different in that sense; neither wanted to be in the spotlight, but while Azama was some no-name monk who wished to stay that way, Celica was the only person left in Valentia in the rightful line of succession for the throne, and she tried to avoid undue attention to preserve both the royal bloodline of Valentia and her own life.

“I’m ready,” Azama said, fitting a fresh set of prayer beads on his wrists, “Is there anything you need help with?”

“Oh, no, I can handle this,” Wrys politely refused Azama’s offer of assistance.

“I feel bad that you’ve done all this work just for me; isn’t there something I can do?”

“What you can do,” Wrys said, putting down the bowl he was washing and turning to face Azama, “is get some rest. Are you going to need help walking?”

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“Then let us be off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the medical advice Wrys gives is to some degree based off actual historical medicine (it’s commonly known that alcohol is a decent disinfectant, and willow tree bark contains Salicin, a compound the body metabolizes into salicylic acid, the compound Aspirin is synthesized from; both were used to some degree in the 1300s which is a completely arbitrary point in history I’m choosing as an equivalent to FE’s level of technology), but I strongly urge you to not try any of that at home. I took some liberties with how these things interact together and what amounts are safe to use, so please actually do some research of your own if you’re that dead-set on being put into a situation where you’d have to make your own disinfectant. My Professional Medical Opinion™ is that you’re vastly better off just carrying antibiotic ointment everywhere you go. Safety first and all that fun stuff.


	3. Tragedy in the Dead of Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter: Wrys, helped by Lukas and Zelgius, tends to Azama’s wounds.

The two monks filled the walk over to Azama’s room with idle chatter about different magical healing techniques. Wrys was particularly interested in how Azama’s Martyr worked, and was surprised to find out it was effectively the gods rewarding him for taking blows in place of others. Azama laughed, mentioning that his body’s resiliency towards physical damage made him particularly suited for the job, and then noted that an armored healer might be able to pull it off a bit better.

“An armored cleric?” Wrys laughed, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of one of those.”

“I’ve heard that there are clerics that wear light armor and brandish axes in Ylisse, but I don’t think any have been summoned yet. That aside, until Azura arrived on that pegasus, you would have been hard pressed to make me believe there could be a dancer who could fly around on a pegasus. Quite frankly, I’m inclined to believe that anything goes in Askr.”

Azama opened the door to his room, inviting Wrys in.

“Now that you mention it, this kingdom really does have its oddities.”

“Indeed. I never thought I’d see the day where Lady Sakura would be dressed like… that,” Azama shuddered, thinking of how Queen Mikoto would have never approved of such an outfit. He understood that Sakura was getting older and that the costume she wore for the fall festival could have been far, far worse, but it wasn’t something Lady Sakura would have normally wore. Did that dragon girl coerce her into wearing it? Surely it couldn’t have been Jakob or Henry…

Wrys paused, looking around Azama’s room.

“You can request more furniture for your quarters from command if you’d like. Anna is relatively stingy with money, so you’d probably have more luck with Sharena.”

“Ah…"

It had never really occurred to Azama, but his room was far more unfurnished than Wrys’. Beyond his bed, the only things in the room was a small table with a few texts on it and a stool. There was also a parcel Azama didn’t recognize on the table, which he made note to open later.

“I appreciate the suggestion, but I don’t have much need for more furniture. I guess I just like to live simply.”

Wrys paused, as if deep in thought. “That’s fair. Do you need anything else?”

“I think I’m fine, thanks.”

“I’ll be taking my leave then.”

Wrys began to head out of the room, but stopped just before he shut the door behind him. He slowly turned his head towards Azama, his face adorned with a sad, almost melancholic expression.

“I’m not sure if this is weighing upon you,” for the first time that day, Wrys’ tone was somber, as if he were delivering bad news to the next of kin of a recently departed ally, “but I don’t think any of us blame you for the choices Kiran has made. Please be sure to get some rest, Azama.”

And, as soon as he had said it, Wrys was gone.

A moment passed.

“Eh?”

Azama was shocked Wrys had seen straight through him. He had tried to, as the younger Heroes would sometimes say, ‘play it cool’, but Wrys hit him right where it hurt.

Azama began to pace back and forth, trying to clear his head. Would-

Before Azama could even begin to sort through his thoughts, a loud crash resounded through the wall, coming from Hector’s room.

“I’ll never be able to sleep like this,” Azama shook his head, lamenting how despite everything his situation has only gotten worse.

‘Ah, Wrys mentioned the new wing of the castle, maybe that’ll be a good place to try to-’

Another, quieter crash echoed through the wall, derailing Azama’s train of thought once again.

“Anywhere would be better than here,” he said with a sigh.

Azama stopped himself before he left the room, remembering the unopened parcel on his desk. He picked up the note attached to it, and with a chuckle, recognized it as the stationary Lady Hinoka uses.

‘Azama,’ the note began.

‘I’m unsure if you’ll be feeling better by the time you’ll be reading this, but if you’ve made it back, I can only take it to mean that you’ve recovered a little bit. I’m unsure how long Wrys’ treatment will take, so I made sure to grab you a loaf of bread from the dining hall in case you end up missing dinner.’

As if reminded that it has been completely empty for hours, Azama’s stomach rumbled and he was overtaken by a hunger unlike any he had felt before. Ripping open the package, he found a fresh loaf of bread, still warm to the touch. If he had a single ounce of patience remaining in his exhausted, hungry body, he would have been mortified by the way he ravenously consumed the loaf, but Azama’s patience was tested time and time again over the course of this this awful day and he simply couldn’t bring himself to care. Having finished off the bread and sated his hunger, he turned back to the note and resumed reading.

‘I hope you don’t eat it all at once so you don’t upset your stomach again, but knowing how much value you place on your asceticism, there’s no way that’s going to be an issue.’

Azama did have to admit that filling his stomach to the brim so soon after having involuntarily emptied it was probably not the best of ideas and smiled bitterly at how Hinoka’s prediction would have been entirely on the mark in any other situation.

‘I’m glad that you’re alive, but you need to start being more careful. I already have my hands full worrying about Setsuna, and it should be the other way around!

Stay safe,

Hinoka’

Azama stood there for a moment, digesting both the bread and what Hinoka had written. He and Setsuna were both, admittedly, considerable headaches for the person they were supposed to protect. They’d always get the job done, for sure, but Lady Hinoka must have on multiple occasions considered-

Yet another crash echoed through the wall, causing Azama to flinch. Frustrated with how he couldn’t even maintain a normal line of thought, he grabbed a candle and made his way towards the foretold ‘new wing of the castle’.

* * *

It being so late at night -already nearly 6 hours past sundown, Azama guessed- the halls of the main castle were practically devoid of any sign of life. Azama could hear idle chatter coming from a few of the rooms he passed; Ryoma and Xander seemed to be engaged in an argument over whether they would be playing chess or shogi tonight in lieu of drawing swords right then and there, and Mia was attempting to coerce Ike into challenging her to a duel. As he moved further and further from the residential wing, those voices faded until the loudest thing Azama could hear was his own breathing.

The dim candlelight illuminated the worn stones of the corridors, and Azama sighed. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that the castle had been abandoned well over a decade ago. The building itself was supposedly perfectly safe to be in, but it was in such a state of disrepair that he couldn’t understand why the ‘zoning committee’ Anna mentioned -whatever that was- would approve the construction of a new wing of the castle when the main building itself was so clearly falling apart.

“Maybe the library would be empty this time of night…” Azama absentmindedly mumbled. Since it was so late, most people would have already retired to their quarters, and it was on the way to the vaguely described ‘north side of the castle’, so he resolved to take the brief detour to see if it was usable tonight. If it wasn’t, he could always just start looking around the new wing.

The windows lining the corridor leading to the library opened up to the courtyard, giving glimpses of the night sky. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight and countless stars sat speckled across the heavens, but barely any light entered the hallway, forcing Azama to strain his eyes in the dim candlelight to avoid stumbling over the uneven stones that made up the floor.

“Must be a new moon…” Azama mumbled, having reached the library.

It seemed quiet enough, so Azama slowly pushed the rightmost door open. It creaked bit, as doors several times older than he was were wont to do, and Azama slid in through the gap between the two doors, quietly shutting it behind him.

A few candles dimly lit the room, and Azama was surprised find Faye, standing in the middle of the room, something red splattered across her face. She must have pushed the tables out of the way, since the center of the room was clear.

“Ah, sorry, didn’t realize the room was being used. I’ll-”

Azama did a double take.

Faye was holding a knife, its blade dripping with something red, the same red liquid smeared across her face. Azama could barely make out a circular pattern drawn out along the floor, and it slowly dawned upon him what Faye was probably attempting to do.

They stared at each other for a moment.

Faye brought her hand to her chin, tilting her head slightly, as if realizing she had misread a recipe and ended up overcooking that night’s dinner.

“I probably should have locked the door, huh?” The stark contrast between Faye’s carefree tone and the scene displayed before him set off every warning siren in Azama’s head, and his mind started to race a mile a minute for the second time that day.

‘Should I run? Will she pursue? Will I be able to outrun her? Are my chances any better if I stay here?’

Choosing to flee, Azama frantically fumbled for the doorknob, cursing as he was unable to find it in the low lighting.

“Wait!” Faye exclaimed, starting towards Azama, “I-”

“Put that knife down before you come any closer! Please!” Azama shouted, backing up against the doors and dropping the candle he was holding in his panic.

Faye stopped to look at the knife in her hand, then at Azama, then back at the knife.

“Oh, right. I forgot I was still holding this,” she laughed, “I guess it’d be pretty easy to misunderstand what I was doing. You walked in right as I had finished, but it seems like what Tharja told me didn’t work. Oh well, there’s always next time!”

‘Should I even ask?’

“The knife, Faye,” he tried his best to keep his tone firm, to try to convince himself that he had some degree of control over the situation, but it wavered, betrayed his terror.

“Sorry, I get a little absentminded this late at night,” Faye made her way over to one of the tables pushed to the edge of the room and put the knife down, “Tharja said that it’ll only work on the night of a new moon, so I stayed up a lot later than I normally would, but it’s a shame it didn’t work out.”

‘Might as well confirm my suspicions…’

“What didn’t work?”

“The ritual to summon this dragon called ‘Fomortiis’. She said that it’s a deity of love in Grado, and I wanted to see if it could give Alm and I its blessing. Kiran hasn’t summoned him yet, but I’m sure he’ll arrive someday and I want to be prepared.”

Vaguely recalling a conversation he overheard Lute having with Hector while on the battlefield, the color drained from Azama’s face.

“Please, don’t ever try to do that again.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a ‘dragon of love’,” Azama shook his head, trying to figure out how Tharja had struck Faye as a trustworthy individual, “I… don’t have all the details, but from what I’ve heard from Heroes who hail from Magvel, it’s an entity comparable to the dragon ‘Duma’ from Valentia, but far more dangerous.”

Faye frowned.

“Oh, that’s kind of… different from what I was expecting.”

“I don’t know why Tharja wanted to bring that demon into our world, but you should probably report this to Alfonse,” Azama said, and then thinking about it more, “You should bring along Eirika or Ephiram as well, since they’d be able to explain what Fomortiis is far better than I could.”

“I guess it turned out for the best that I made some substitutions in the ritual then. Blood tends to be really messy when you have to clean it up, so I just used red paint, and the forest creeps me out at night so I just used the library since it tends to have a lot of space and privacy.”

“And less bears,” Azama muttered, grimacing at the thought of seeing that beast again and trying hard to ignore the implication that Faye has worked with large quantities of blood before.

“Hm?”

“Yeah, that’d probably cause the ritual to fail,” Azama turned towards the door, “I’ll be taking my leave, then.”

“Actually, before you go,” Faye grabbed Azama’s arm before he could grasp the doorknob, halting his retreat, “Kiran has paired you up with Celica in that ‘support’ thing that owl keeps talking about, right?

"Why do you ask?” Azama frowned while faking a cordial tone, not liking the direction this conversation was heading.

“Well, I was wondering if you could, like, dissuade her from pursuing Alm, or, uh, keep her occupied since you’re already so close to-”

“No,” Azama’s frown turned to a scowl, his tone conveying his staunch opposition to whatever Faye was about to suggest, “Absolutely not. I refuse to participate in someone else’s love triangle, let alone one amongst children-” Azama wrested his arm from her grasp and picked up the candlestick from where it had clattered to the floor, “-and I am most certainly not thrilled that you’d think to suggest that my relationship with someone half my age could ever be anything but entirely professional.”

"Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Azama grumbled, leaving the library and immediately heading towards the new wing of the castle. After such an unpleasant encounter, he resolved to make no more detours. His heart could only take so much stress in one day, and if he died before he could meditate at least once in this godforsaken castle, Azama would be incredibly disappointed in the machinations of fate.

* * *

Standing at the entryway to the new wing of the castle, Azama wondered how could have missed this massive building. Sure, it wasn’t as large as the main castle, but it looked to the be about the size of the residential wing, which was by no means small. He doubted that they could even begin and come so close to completing a building of this size in the time since he had mentioned it to Anna, but having wasted enough time already he pushed the questions that brought about to the back of his head and crossed the threshold.

As Azama walked around the new wing to find a suitable place to meditate, he was genuinely impressed that they had somehow managed to make the ‘new’ building look as worn as the rest of the castle.

‘Do they go out of their way to use older stones? I can’t imagine that it would be that much cheaper… or is this rundown appearance by design? Is it so it doesn’t stand out against the older parts of the castle?’

The corridors lacked the decorations that the old building had, and all the doorways he passed by lacked doors, revealing each room to be just as unfurnished. Taking note of the ones that seemed out of the way enough to avoid being found by anyone else tormented enough to be walking around this late at night, Azama continued his journey through the empty building.

‘It’s a shame that this’ll building will be filled to the brim with Heroes in a few weeks’ time. With how quiet this building is, I’m surprised that it’s connected to the main castle.’

After having spent a good 20 minutes or so exploring it, it occurred to Azama that the new wing was meant to mirror the layout of the other residential wing. Upon that realization, Azama knew exactly where to look next and made his way to where it would be in this building. On the side of Hector’s room opposite his own there was a small corridor that, after extending the length of Hector’s room, turned away from it and extended a few meters before coming to an abrupt halt. If it weren’t so close to Hector’s room in the old residential wing it would have been a wonderful place to meditate, but unfortunately there hadn’t been any other place like it in the castle.

Azama reached the area where the corridor in question would be and was relieved to find it to indeed be there. He sat down at the end of the corridor, out of sight of the main hallway, and set the candle he was holding down. He’d’ve liked to extinguish it outright to decrease the chances of being found -and interrupted-, but since he had no means of relighting it for the journey back to his room, Azama had no choice but to curse his lack of foresight, leave it lit, and hope its dim flicker wouldn’t be seen by whoever else would be roaming the halls of this empty building in the middle of the night.

Azama took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and let his body relax as he exhaled.

The stones of the floor were hard and unyielding, and his clothing offered little cushioning. It wasn’t comfortable, but Azama knew that he would be able tune it out fully once he began to focus on meditating.

Azama took another slow deep breath, the feeling of the floor already beginning to disappear, and closed his eyes.

Azama leaned back, allowing his body to meet the wall behind him. Just as stiff as the floor beneath him, he rested his head against the wall, his hair providing a little more padding than his clothes did.

Azama took yet another deep breath.

The candle next to him continued to burn, the faint scent of smoke reaching his nose.

Another deep breath let Azama ignore that, too.

It was nearly silent. There was no wind outside, and the candle didn’t crackle like a large fire would have. The loudest thing in this small corner of the castle was Azama himself; his breathing and his heart rate were both steady, and in the isolation from the rest of the world, they were nearly deafening.

With another deep breath, Azama tuned out the sounds of his own body.

Each breath automatically came and went, and with time, the only things Azama was aware of were his own thoughts.

A small smile crept across his lips -not that he noticed- as, at long last, Azama was able to meditate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter basically served just to get Azama from point A to point B and to introduce some concepts that I might expand upon later (keep reading to find out which!), such as Feh being an actual character and more than just a feathery, less intrusive Omochao. I feel a little bad for writing Faye like this but Heroes really made no attempt to convey the (small) character growth she experienced through her support with Silque and for better or for worse that happened to fit my needs.  
> As a side note, I think Faye’s ‘80s slasher film heroine’-tier understanding of anything to do with the occult would be outright stated in canon if Echoes placed more emphasis on how Duma’s pacts worked. It’s a flavor I feel complements the rest of her character, but I don’t think I’ll ever end up doing anything else with it.


	4. I Already Made A ‘Lost In Thoughts, All Alone’ Joke In This Chapter So I Have Nothing To Use For The Title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter: Faye nearly summons Formortiis for reasons that aren’t relevant and after dealing with _that_ hot mess Azama finally finds a place to meditate.

Sitting alone in his small corner of the deserted wing, lost in his own thoughts, Azama was finally content. He had spent the past few months struggling in vain to meditate, and having finally found both the time and the place to do so, Azama was overcome with a deep sense of fulfillment which would only deepen once he completed sorting through his thoughts.

He ran through a quick list of the things he’d like to contemplate, picked the most long running issue, and pushed the rest from his mind.

‘Now, to start with, let’s address this so-called ‘skill inheritance’ magic.’

While it wasn’t something that he ever really forgot about, Wrys’ comment earlier had brought this to the forefront of his mind. Guilt, guilt, guilt. When it came down to it, that’s all that skill inheritance brought about. Sure, there were quantifiable physical benefits, but when weighed against the lives of others, were those benefits truly worth it?

The ritual itself was relatively simple. The two Heroes involved and a summoner -in their case, Kiran- would head to the altar, the summoner would perform a quick rite, and one of the Heroes would disappear, granting a part of their abilities to the one who remained.

Azama could understand why magic would be required to transfer the skills of one person to another and, quite frankly, considered it to be some of the most impressive -and practical- magic he was aware of. If a grandmaster were to be upon their deathbed, you could transfer some of their immeasurable skill to someone else, to someone younger, and build and build upon it over the course of several generations to create someone of immeasurable strength.

The issue, of course, was that the price paid for that degree of power was the life of another, living human being.

But were they really human?

Azama pushed that intrusive thought from his head. He’d deal with that question when it was time to.

Skill inheritance, when it came down to it, was a sacrificial ritual. You killed someone to take their strength. You could take the stance that they were being ‘sent somewhere else, never to be seen again’, but when it came down to it, how much different from death would that be? You could even argue that since it’s -allegedly- painless it’s ‘humane’, but if that’s the case then wouldn’t murdering someone in their sleep be deemed okay? Wouldn’t-

Azama took a step back. He was getting worked up, and that’s not why he was doing this. He allowed himself to calm down, then resumed his train of thought.

In Azama’s experience, the sacrificial Heroes seemed to be at peace with, or at the very least consenting to the skill inheritance process, and he couldn’t understand why.

Wrys was sacrificed to give him, according to that owl, ‘Live to Serve’. It seemed to be a decently useful skill, allowing him to heal himself as he healed others, and he could understand why it was given to him, his team’s designated meat shield, in particular and yet the recently re-summoned Wrys seemed to be perfectly alright having previously been killed to give it to him.

Perhaps he felt he, as the oldest person present in the castle, had been not long for this world, and his strength was better off being used by someone else. He had mentioned that he had started an orphanage in Archanea, so Azama didn’t think it was out of character for Wrys to be selfless, but would that really manifest as allowing himself to be sacrificed?

Even if he did, Azama really couldn’t justify being an accessory to some sort of suicidal desire.

Moving on to Lukas, who gave him ‘Fortress Defense’. Lukas was, in his own way, one of the most enigmatic members of their company, and not just due to Azama’s limited interaction with the soldier. At first glance, there was nothing about Lukas that really stood out. He was a polite lancer from Valentia with decent defenses, and most people seemed to content with that being how they saw him. And yet, Azama couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to him, something worth being cautious of.

Lukas’s personality was too modest to be true. He seemed like he shared Azama’s inclination towards asceticism -though to a notably lesser degree- but having lived that lifestyle for years, everything about Lukas’s disposition seemed deliberately manufactured. Azama couldn’t get a good read on him, and it seemed that was entirely by design. The only thing that Azama could be sure about when it came to Lukas was that he was hiding something and was willing to do quite a bit to make sure nobody picked up on it. Lukas didn’t seem to be malicious, but could Azama trust that observation? How much of Lukas’s kind demeanor was produced for the sole purpose of getting others to let their guard down? Was being sacrificed to Azama part of some sinister plan? Or was furthering the goals of the Order of Heroes and, more specifically, the goals of Kiran simply a cause he was willing to die for? There were too many questions surrounding Lukas and not enough answers, which is, of course, the exact reason why he didn’t know how to feel when Feh told him that the ‘Steady Stance’ from Zelgius would be replacing ‘Fortress Defense’ and making Lukas’s sacrifice entirely pointless.

Strictly speaking, ‘Steady Stance’ wasn’t from Zelgius; it was from The Black Knight. Nobody had seen The Black Knight without his armor on, so there remained that tiny shadow of a doubt that they weren’t the same person, but despite how much Zelgius seemed to insist otherwise, he and The Black Knight were for all intents and purposes indubitably one and the same. Azama couldn’t understand why he continued to insist they weren’t, but if he had to hazard a guess, it may have been due to some sort of grievous transgression he had committed prior to being summoned. While he wasn’t up to snuff on Tellius’ history, it was evident to Azama that he had a complex involvement with a number of major events in contemporary Tellius, and had actively supported more than one side in the conflict that had enveloped the continent as a double agent.

When the Black Knight appeared out of the tempest, a wave of uneasiness moved through most -but not all- of Tellius’ Heroes. If it weren’t for Sharena physically holding him back, Ike would have beheaded the Black Knight on the spot, and yet Micaiah seemed to be relieved to see a familiar face. From bits and pieces of conversations he overheard throughout the castle, Azama knew that Micaiah and Ike, while not necessarily enemies, had opposed each other during Tellius’ Grand War, and the contrast between their reactions to the Black Knight’s appearance cast some light on what kind of relationship the two of them had.

Micaiah seemed to be an interesting case as far as Heroes came, as she was summoned during Tellius’ Great War, while all the other Heroes from Tellius aside from Soothe, Sanaki, Zelgius, and the Black Knight seemed to have been summoned from shortly after the conclusion of the Mad King’s Conquest. She didn’t particularly like Ike, and seemed to expect the feeling to be reciprocated, but to her frustration, the Ike present at the castle had yet to meet her in ‘his’ timeline. She-

Azama paused. He was, once again, getting sidetracked. Having fallen out of practice with meditation, he was getting distracted far more than he normally would. He could pursue that line of thought once he finished his current one, but ultimately Micaiah and Ike’s relationship wasn’t of much concern to him. Taking one thing at a time would yield better results than trying to handle everything all at once.

‘The Black Knight. Right. Him.’

The Black Knight had clearly been allied with Micaiah and existed in opposition to Ike. Azama couldn’t say for sure, but based off of how Ike was screaming things about how he must avenge his father while being restrained by Sharena and how Mist was visibly shaken by his presence in the castle, he suspected that the Black Knight had personally slain Ike’s father. Ike stopped trying kill him after learning that while the Black Knight had not been summoned through Breidablik normal summoning system, he was still under the same kind of contract that the rest of the Heroes were, which forbid Heroes from being able to land a fatal blow on allied Heroes, but he remained in a sour mood until Zelgius was summoned a few months later.

When Zelgius appeared, clad in the same pitch black armor the Black Knight had been, Ike and Micaiah both wordlessly expressed a profound sense of betrayal. Micaiah shut herself in her room, refusing to come out for weeks, and Ike focused his anger on training in solitude. Zelgius himself tried to integrate into the everyday life at the castle as best he could, but the army seemed to regard him with a sense of distrust, and Zelgius clearly picked up on it. In contrast to the Black Knight’s aggressive demeanor, Zelgius seemed to be an excellent knight, a paragon of chivalrous ideals, but it was evident to the entire army that he had at the very least killed someone in cold blood and likely been an active contributor to the destabilization of an entire continent, and that wasn’t something people were so readily willing to overlook.

Being the knight that he was, Zelgius took the wary glances and hushed voices whenever he entered the room without complaint, but it seemed to weigh upon him more than he let on. Some Heroes questioned if he truly qualified as a Hero; even the likes of Arvis and Zephiel had people who rallied behind their exploits, but Zelgius would have stood alone should he have succeeded in whatever he had been trying to accomplish, a hero to nobody but himself.

Azama doubted that Zelgius thought so highly of himself.

While he kept his tongue sharp, Azama still tried to give people a chance, and it was clear to him that Zelgius was making an honest attempt at redeeming himself. He spent most of his spare time performing labor around the castle and doing his best to assist people when he could, and learning how to treat wounds was likely an effort to make himself that much more useful. Azama knew that as a foreigner, it was not his place to excuse what Zelgius had done, but he was expressing remorse for his actions and it disheartened him to see the other Heroes from outside of Tellius completely ignore Zelgius’ attempts at reforming. Zelgius probably couldn’t redeem himself within his own lifetime, but the fact that he was trying to regardless said quite a bit more about Zelgius than the knowledge that he was the Black Knight did.

‘That’s the thing about repenting, I suppose,’ Azama thought, wistfully, ‘You can decide to do it, but you don’t get to decide when -or if- you’ll be forgiven.’

And yet, despite all that, he and the Black Knight still kept up the act that they were separate people. The Black Knight, while not openly antagonistic, remained stoic in the castle and hellishly brutal on the battlefield, which stood in stark contrast to Zelgius’ knightly demeanor. At first glance, Azama thought they may have been summoned from separate time periods, like Ike and Micaiah were, and that the Black Knight simply had yet to reach the event in his life that made him regret his actions, but his final words before being sacrificed cast doubt upon that explanation.

A few months back, Azama had been called to the altar used for skill inheritance by Feh and was greeted by Kiran and the Black Knight. Having already been the on the receiving end of the skill inheritance process before and knowing there was not much he could do to stop it, Azama was ready to have it be over with as soon as it could be, but as if sensing his desire to make it quick, the Black Knight had interrupted Kiran shortly after the ritual began.

“Kiran, I’d like a moment with Azama before you continue.”

“Hm?” Kiran had looked up from the book containing the instructions to the rite, “Sure, go ahead.”

A moment passed, before the Black Knight spoke up again.

“Alone, if you will.”

“Ah, of course, I’ll be over here,” Kiran started towards a corner of the room, “Call for me when you’re done.”

“Will do.”

The Black Knight waited for Kiran to be out of earshot, then turned back to Azama.

“What’s this about?” Azama spoke up before the Black Knight had a chance to, a little irate that this unpleasant ordeal would be dragged out longer than it needed to be.

“I wanted to explain to why we’re doing this.”

“I’ve done skill inheritance before, it’s so-”

“No,” the Black Knight shook his helmet-covered head, “I meant why I told Kiran to do this.”

“Come again?” Azama wasn’t sure he had heard that right.

“I told Kiran to have you inherit my Steady Stance.”

“Why?!” Azama shook his head in disbelief, “Why would you ever-”

“I’ll explain if you give me a chance to speak.”

“…Go ahead.”

“Tactically, it’s a better fit for you than Fortress Defense. It only activates when your opponent initiates the battle, but it doesn’t decrease your ability to deal damage with Pain. From what I’ve heard, your Pain has been refined to prevent enemies from counter attacking, so it’ll activate in any situation where you would be attacked.”

“That’s hardly reason enough to-”

“I’m not done, and this’ll be over quicker if you let me finish,” the Black Knight sighed.

Azama kept silent, allowing the Black Knight to resume his explanation.

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, my presence has a significant negative impact on troop morale,” the Black Knight’s voice shifted from the assertive tone he’d always used to a more wistful, reflective voice that was in line with what Azama would have expected from Zelgius had he known him at the time, “In the past I’ve… done many things I shouldn’t have, and it’s to be expected that people don’t exactly trust me, but as I’m under contract I am unable to leave of my own will.”

The Black Knight took a moment to pause and allow Azama to absorb what he was trying to say.

“My options were either to be sent home, or to convince our commanders that my abilities were better used by somebody else. Sending me home would have been a waste from anyone’s point of view, so passing a skill off to someone else was my only option. I spoke to Kiran, explained my reasoning, and now here we are.”

“But you’re a tremendously powerful solider, why would Kiran ever agree to giving you up?”

The Black Knight shifted in his armor for a moment, before looking in the general direction of Kiran.

“I can’t speak on the behalf of someone else,” as if for dramatic effect, the Black Knight took a deep breath, “but I think you may be better off finding the answer to that yourself.”

Not giving Azama had a chance to reply, the Black Knight signaled for Kiran to head over, attempting to end the conversation at that.

Azama was having none of it, and got a few words out before their summoner returned to the altar.

“All you’re doing is running away.”

“Maybe so,” The Black Knight turned to Kiran, who now stood in position to begin the ritual, “Can we begin?”

“I’m ready.”

“Sure,” Azama grumbled, conceding that despite how he wasn’t done with this discussion, he wouldn’t get anything else out of it if he forced it to continue.

Kiran began the ritual, and it was completed without any difficulties.

“Don’t you worry, you foolish monk,” The Black Knight squeezed out a final remark as his body dissolved into a light which would soon move to envelop Azama, “I’m not the kind of person to leave things unfinished.”

Kiran looked at where the Black Knight once stood, then back towards Azama.

“What was that about?”

Azama sighed as the concept of the Black Knight’s Steady Stance flowed into him and integrated itself into his very being, “I wish I knew.”

Azama and Kiran didn’t have to wait long for their answer, as when Zelgius was summoned a few days later, to the chagrin of Ike and Micaiah, he immediately set off on the path of redemption.

While Wrys’ and Lukas’ sacrifice were the decision of Kiran and could be viewed as them simply not objecting to his order, Zelgius had actively sought out to be released from his contract and took it upon himself to burden Azama with the decision to intervene from a position where he really had no power to. While Azama, as a hard fatalist, would have likely taken the path of least resistance like Wrys and Lukas had, it left a bad taste in his mouth when he saw other people just sit and accept whatever happened to them, and it left an especially bad taste in his mouth when people try to make him complicit in their apathy.

Accepting whatever happened to him as the machinations of ‘fate’ was almost second nature to Azama. There were a few situations, such as with the bear earlier that day, where he would struggle in a bid to survive, but when it came to mundane, everyday inconveniences he’d take them in stride and move on. Stressing over minor things simply wasn’t worth the effort it took, and if he pushed his grievances to the back of his mind he could use it as material to meditate over later.

The struggle against fate, Azama felt, was one the most beautiful things, and quite frankly the only praiseworthy things people did. Despite many things seemingly being ‘meant to be’, humans nonetheless refused to accept the hand they were dealt and did their best to reverse the effects of the impatient, incessant march of time.

What struck him so fundamentally wrong about Zelgius’s approach to his atonement was that he seemed to hold his own life in such low regard that he’d be willing to end it for the sake of those who vehemently hated him. It sat in opposition to what he had come to expect from others that he couldn’t help but feel that such an outlook was inalienably wrong.

Could he really, in good faith, have allowed Zelgius to trap him into being an accessory in his disappearance?

Should he have said no to it solely on the basis that ‘death should be avoided’?

Zelgius seemed to be less moody and more helpful having now been resummoned without a helmet, but did that really make it acceptable for him to have used Azama as a means of martyring himself?

Azama paused, giving himself time to rest and process all of that.

Zelgius was a deeply troubled man, that much was certain, but aside from that conversation on the skill inheritance altar he had given no indication that he was suicidal, and Azama was inclined to believe that -aside from whatever lead to him doing whatever it was he had done in Tellius- Zelgius was as normal a skilled swordsman could be. Azama still had mixed feelings about Zelgius’ choices, but he figured he’d finish up contemplating the individual victims of his before trying to look at the bigger picture.

Rounding off the people who gave their life to give him power was Camilla, the Nohrian princess who sat directly opposed to Hinoka as the eldest sister of the royal family of their respective countries. As she wore her heart on her sleeve, there wasn’t really much for Azama to pick apart when it came to her motivations, but the question of why she allowed herself to be used in skill inheritance still remained. As far as Azama was aware Camilla had no real reason to just accept it as it was and given how she has never made any attempt to hide her motivations, he suspected she had no ulterior motive towards wanting to pass down ‘Savage Blow’.

Camilla’s relative indifference to skill inheritance reminded Azama of the underlying issue he had with it; he, at the very least, saw it as a form of death. Perhaps the reason why she, Wrys, and Lukas ‘accepted’ it so easily despite not being contractually obligated to partake in skill inheritance was not because they were indifferent to their own death, but rather because they didn’t see it as death in the first place. To them, it may have just been something like being put on leave, which while not exactly ideal for a professional solider, it wouldn’t be as objectionable as being asked to die for the sake of strengthening a comrade.

In the same line of thinking, it’s possible that Zelgius didn’t seek to redeem himself though death, but rather used it as a means of changing his form to kickstart his repentance. Confessing that he had betrayed most everyone he knew that was present in the Order of Heroes couldn’t have been easy; Ike probably wouldn’t allow himself to be approached by the Black Knight, and Sothe, in his idolization of Ike, was less than subtle about his distrust of the Black Knight, making it hard to approach Micaiah. If he couldn’t find the opportunity to tell them the truth, wouldn’t it be just as effective to force them to see the truth in a way they couldn’t deny?

Is it possible that he allowed himself to be summoned wearing the same armor for that exact reason?

Azama paused his musings, noting he was getting off track again. Zelgius’ motivations would be impossible to guess without more information, so he’d put a stop to that line of thought and go back to looking at the issue as a whole.

Skill inheritance was tough for Azama to have a solid stance on. While he had yet to encounter someone who was directly opposed to it like he was, it still wasn’t something he could agree with.

But could he reject it?

No. Of course not. Ignoring the improbability of him receiving another skill anytime soon, Azama was never in control of anything that happened here.

Azama let out a deep sigh.

He wasn’t doing this to get depressed, but it did remain painfully obvious that things moved so fast here that he had a hard time keeping a grip on the few things he did have a degree of control over. This castle was -in its own special way- just as hellish as the battlefield, and its unfamiliarity when compared to what he was used to in Hoshido made it so had to remain vigilant far more than he ever needed to before.

He’d just have to learn how to get used to that, Azama mused with a bitter laugh before moving on to the next topic.

The nature of the Heroes themselves. That is: were they truly human?

This topic had a lot of things to pick apart, so he’d start with the most apparent one; Hero duplicates.

Wrys, Lukas and Camilla -amongst many others- had been ‘resummoned’ after they had disappeared because of the skill inheritance ritual. That wasn’t particularly unusual; if someone was no longer present in this world, what would stop them from being summoned again? In fact, Corrin’s extraordinary extradimensional estate was outfitted with a similar summoning system, and there was nothing stopping multiple Einherjar from being around there.

The main difference between the Einherjar system and the summoning system at the Order of Heroes is that, while Einherjar were more akin to soulless puppets that took the form and abilities of a known entity, summoned Heroes were effectively indistinguishable from the real deal.

This would be all fine and dandy, except for the fact that multiple instances of a given Hero could be summoned and exist at the same time. From what he had gathered something similar had happened in Ylisse with Lucina, but Azama couldn’t shake the feeling that her situation was distinctly different from whatever allowed summoning to exist. By creating a future different from the one she had come from, Lucina also caused the ‘Lucina’ that would grow up in the new future to in turn be distinctly different from her ‘original’ self.

The Heroes summoned here, on the other hand, seemed to be effectively identical to each other; with a few exceptions, they were pulled from the same point in their lives, with the same set of memories and the same abilities.

Those few exceptions were the Heroes who had multiple ‘types’ of ‘instances’, for lack of an eloquent way to word it. Lyn, for example, was first summoned with a sword as an infantry unit, but later as a cavalry archer, and then as a staff user like himself. Each was clearly pulled from a different point in their life, and yet they didn’t seem to be different individuals. When it came down to it, they were just holding a different weapon and wearing a different outfit.

What’s more is that these duplicates, regardless of ‘type’, seemed to be completely unaware of each other’s existence, while still noticing the duplicates of other Heroes. Was there some sort of blind spot that prevented them from noticing each other, enforced by the summoning system?

Azama was sure that he had duplicates of his own, as from what he had gathered they were required for the merging ritual.

Merging was… different from skill inheritance.

On the most obvious level, instead of using two different people, it used two ‘instances’ of the same person. It also, from what he had gathered, simply took two duplicates of one person and made them into one instance that was a smidgeon stronger instead of transferring weapons or abilities. Because it used the same person twice, it didn’t have the same moral dilemma where -from certain perspectives, Azama reminded himself- you are effective killing someone else.

While he had somehow managed to sort through it a few months back, Azama decided to go over the question that merging begged once again.

Merging took two entities and made them into one, but assuming that they could be considered to be ‘separate’ in the first place, which one remained?

The answer, of course, was that it was a mix of the two.

Azama had been merged nine times so far, so he was more familiar with the process than most of the Heroes present. Raigh might have been merged more, but as he didn’t have many chances to interact with the young shaman, Azama wasn’t couldn’t be sure.

A Hero would get called to the same altar that was used for skill inheritance, and stand in the same place, and look towards where the second participant would normally stand. The moment their attention wandered, whatever magical ‘blind spot’ that prevented Heroes from perceiving any of their own duplicate iterations was lifted and revealed that on the opposite side of the room stood another iteration of the Hero.

The sudden realization that someone else was there was a little surprising, but not to the point where it could really be called ‘shocking’. Azama imagined it was comparable to what Katarina might feel if she looked up from the book she was currently absorbed in to see someone else had sat down at the other end of the table she commandeered in the library, or what Setsuna probably felt when anybody tried to get her attention, and the surprise was further dulled by it almost being as if you were looking in a mirror. Perhaps it would be more shocking for people with outfits that were asymmetrical, but for Azama it had about the emotional impact of someone calling his name from a several paces behind him.

The ritual would continue, with Kiran performing a quick chant. Azama would then be asked to reach out and both would comply, their movements almost perfectly in sync. The moment his hand collided with the other’s, cracks in the air itself began to spread out from the point of contact, furthering the illusion that there was indeed a mirror in front of him. The cracks rapidly propagated, spreading out in a plane that filled his view until they reached the walls of the room.

The cracks held for a moment, only to fall to pieces, taking the image of his doppelganger with it. The only indication that there hadn’t been a mirror in front of him was the lingering feeling of flesh against flesh where their hands had touched, but that sensation was quickly replaced by a flood of memories that were not his own.

Like with skill inheritance, there was an instance that served as the ‘base’. The base instance was the one whose training and minor quirks were retained, but the resulting instance was able to learn any skills either had access to prior to being merged. With time the memories of the second instance faded, and while their knowledge remained, the sensation that his body was not his own too numbed until the only sign that there had been more than one being inhabiting it was that his combat performance had increased ever so slightly.

Where one started and where one ended couldn’t be clearly defined, but Azama as he was right now currently housed parts of nine instances of himself. From an outsider’s perspective, it may seem like the ‘base’ Azama remained entirely intact and the few things gained from the ‘merged’ Azamas were tacked on like a post script to a letter, but merging was nowhere near as sloppy of a process as that.

The Azama sitting in this corner of the castle was a complete entity. His consciousness was effectively continuous aspect of who he was, and anything ‘carried over’ from a merged Azama fit neatly into it. If a merged Azama had read a certain book prior to being merged, the resulting Azama was able to recall the knowledge gained from that book without any additional effort. Sure, he could identify that the knowledge came from that merged Azama, but since that Azama was part of the current Azama, it didn’t feel any more out of place than being able to recognize that certain memories came from certain life events.

‘Might that be why different types of iterations of a Hero can’t be merged…? Masked Marth and Lucina were born as the same person, but perhaps the consciousness of Lucina would not overlap with that of Masked Marth as well as it would need to for merging to be feasible because she had a few years of added life experience when compared to her younger counterpart.’

Azama paused for a moment to rest before bringing his thoughts back together again.

Merging, as a process, seemed to be an advanced form of alchemy, as did skill inheritance. There were things lost in the process, so it wasn’t exactly ‘perfect’ alchemy, but the idea of mixing around the parts of a living human was leagues ahead of any alchemy he had borne witness to.

When talking about living beings created through alchemy, the term homunculus comes to mind.

In the most literal sense, homunculi are artificial humans. Unlike the Stoneborn and Faceless produced through Nohrian magic, the intent behind their creation was to more often than not serve as a demonstration of an alchemist’s skill, though they aren’t exclusively noncombatants.

While he wasn’t keen on the details of it, it seemed that there had been a skilled mage in Elibe that created homunculi that he called ‘morphs’. These morphs were, from what he gathered from when they had been briefly mentioned by Ursula and Lyn, beings that lacked the ability to feel genuine emotion or the ability to defy their creators but were still able to pass as a ‘true’ human. Perhaps that mage had created them specifically with those limitations so they would be easier to control, but their apparent lack of free will was what clearly set them apart from the Heroes summoned by Breidablik.

While Heroes were bound by a contract that forced them to fight in the stead of their summoner -whether it be Veronica, Surtr, or Kiran- they retained nearly all of their autonomy outside of that obligation. As part of the ‘fight for their summoner’ clause Heroes were not permitted to fight each other to the death, much to the ire of anybody who had known Zelgius. Sparring was still allowed, but it didn’t seem to serve much purpose for honing one’s skills within Askr. Actual combat experience was-

‘I’m getting off track. Let’s focus on Breidablik for now.’

Anna, Alfonse, and Sharena didn’t seem to have a firm grasp on how Breidablik’s standard summoning ritual worked aside from ‘orbs go in, Heroes come out’, and if Kiran knew any more, they hadn’t given any indication.  Summoning, as a process, seemed to require a catalyst of some form. This more often than not took the form of orbs, but certain artifacts could be used to summon a specific Hero without the need to spend orbs. These artifacts most commonly come from the instabilities caused by ‘Tempest Trials’ and ‘Grand Hero Battles’, but they sometimes came as rewards for completing requests from Askrian citizens that Feh conveyed to the Order of Heroes.

From what he could tell, Surtr and Veronica were restricted to the artifact-based summoning as they did not have access to Breidablik’s ability to use orbs as catalysts. Their contracts with any Heroes they had summoned also seemed to expire upon defeat, which wasn’t the case with Breidablik-based summons. As far as anyone could tell, Breidablik-based Heroes could only be freed from their contract by their summoner, regardless of what might happen. Death itself was of no consequence, as it could even restore Heroes to full health upon the conclusion of a battle, making it a fearsome weapon indeed.

At its core, Breidablik seemed to be a tool that just facilitated the summoning of Heroes and made alterations to the contracts formed with them. The fact that Breidablik was used to ‘summon’ and not ‘create’ Heroes seemed to imply that the Heroes are ‘brought’ from another location to Askr. This would further imply that the Heroes were ‘pulled’ directly from their world of origin.

However…

If Heroes were taken out of the world they belonged in, wouldn’t other worlds have become aware of Askr? Heroes by their very nature were people who would be missed, so any sudden disappearances surely would have been noticed, yet none of the Heroes seemed to have been aware of what summoning was prior to their arrival in Askr.

Perhaps they were returned to their world moments later?

But that wouldn’t account for their experiences in the meantime. Prior to coming to Askr, Azama had heard whispers of a type of magic that prevented certain information from being from being shared, but even that wouldn’t negate any physical training they underwent while in Askr.

How could they hide the fact that time had passed for Heroes while they had been summoned?

Bringing this back to homunculi, it seemed like the most reasonable explanation for how summoning worked without being detectable from outside of Askr was that it would ‘create’ instead of ‘summon’. After all, if ‘summoning’ created a duplicate of that person’s body and of their soul using their ‘original’ as a blueprint, it wouldn’t disrupt the original in any noticeable way. If this was the case, perhaps the artifact catalysts served as blueprints in and of themselves.

This would mean that Heroes were artificial humans.

If Heroes were artificial humans, it would make sense that skill inheritance and merging were so seamless, and that combat manuals as a concept could even exist. Regardless of the type of magic it used, if summoning created every aspect of a Hero, the fundamentals for understanding how to mix and match parts of Heroes would simply be the next step in developing it.

While they were a relatively new development and he hadn’t had much time to familiarize himself with it, creating combat manuals seemed to be the same process as sending home a Hero, but it preserved the information needed to perform merging and skill inheritance. The idea that it was trapping the soul itself seemed impractical at best and needlessly morbid at worst, but if it simply ‘transcribed’ whatever instructions were needed for Breidablik to accurately perform inheritance and merging it might be comparable to how catalysts contained the instructions to summon a specific Hero.

Along the same lines, ‘Unlock Potential’ -or Promotion, as Kiran called it- was a ritual that increased the ‘rarity’ of a Hero and could be seen as a way to patch up the flaws left behind in an imperfect homunculus. A few months back Katarina had uncovered a book hidden deep in the library which covered the summoning system, and -while it didn’t explain what summoning actually did- Kiran and Feh were able to use the information within to increase the rate at which ‘four star’ Heroes were summoned and decrease the rate at which ‘three star’ Heroes were summoned. If you didn’t factor in merging, Heroes with a higher rarity were objectively stronger than their lower rarity counterparts; combining that with Katarina’s discovery of a more refined summoning ritual that favored higher rarities would suggest that the creation of Heroes was currently an imperfect process that created Heroes with flaw. ‘Five stars’ seemed to be an upper limit on a Hero’s rarity, and the presence of a maximum rarity would suggest that a homunculus could only be improved so much, which would further suggest that ‘five star’ Heroes were homunculi without flaws.

To the endless lament of Kiran, summoning as a process was impartial in the sense that if you didn’t have a catalyst you had no control over which Hero would be summoned or the rarity that they would be at. Certain Heroes -like Azama- were unavailable at ‘five stars’ and needed to be promoted to reach the supposed perfection of ‘five stars’ while there were others that could only be summoned at ‘five stars’. Many of the Heroes that could only be summoned at ‘five stars’ held weapons that could not be inherited by others, so it might be possible that whatever prevented their weapons from being shared would reject an ‘imperfect’ homunculus as well. Based off of that, it wouldn’t be too much of a reach to assume that certain Heroes were more ‘stable’ when created as homunculi at specific rarities, no?

As time passed, Feh was able to make subtle changes to the summoning system. When most Heroes could be initially summoned they were only available at ‘five stars’ but after …whatever it was Feh did, sometimes a Hero -like Soleil- could be summoned at ‘four stars’ or ‘five stars’ within a few weeks. A few months back she was able to move a large amount of Heroes from the ‘four and five star pool’ to the ‘three and four star pool’, which she said was to fix how diluted the ‘five star pool’ had gotten recently. A few of these units had their own exclusive weapon, so it seemed Feh had refined the summoning system to allow their homunculi to be stable at lower rarities.

Speaking of the summoning system…

While the summoning system itself seemed to predate known history within Askr, someone had to have created it. The intent behind it seemed to be to be able to create an army incapable of desertion while still being capable of functioning independently, and the draw behind being able to create an army was obvious; it kept your citizenry out of harm’s way without diminishing your own military might. Perhaps a conflict similar to the one that currently faced Askr had engulfed the continent during an eon time forgot?

So, this meant that there was a considerable chance that Azama was an artificial human.

Normally people might find that revelation alarming, but even ignoring the fact there was no hard proof he was artificial, Azama didn’t see any point in obsessing over it.

If something looks like a person, acts like a person and thinks like a person, what difference did it make if they were born in a womb or born from some esoteric form of magic? Sure, there were connotations that came with being ‘artificial’, but the vast majority of individuals at the Order of Heroes had been summoned so even if it ended up being that they weren’t ‘real’ humans, Azama couldn’t see anyone relevant to his day-to-day life deciding it made him into less of a person.

His worth as person was something Azama had sorted through well over a decade ago, long before he had been summoned to Askr and even before Lady Hinoka had hired him, and the possibility of him being artificial didn’t really change much. If it was a sure fact that they were homunculi it might have been something that plagued Azama a bit more, but in the grand scheme of things? This was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before.

Azama took another deep breath, giving himself a moment to pause his thoughts.

It had been a while since he had been this relaxed, and having sorted through most of what was bothering him, he had nearly reached that coveted state of tranquility that had eluded him for so long.

There was just one final thing to unpack, and while there was quite a bit to it -or rather, them-, knowing he was in the final stretch pushed him to continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to think that I did my best at making this more than just Exposition: The Chapter but trying to make something like that flow well or at least be entertaining when it’s literally just someone thinking through things is about as tough as to sounds. Out of all the parts of this fic, I feel that this was where I might have bit off more than I could chew the most, but I can be satisfied with it as a first attempt at that kind of thing.  
> I’ll hold off on commenting further on this and the next two chapters because I had originally intended for them to all be a single chapter that I split up because this chapter alone was longer than everything else I’d posted here combined, and I’d prefer to look at them together.


	5. Narrowly Avoiding A Title Drop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter: Azama overthinks a lot of things, and will continue to do so if left to his devices

Kiran.

Kiran was the summoner that had brought him into this world and while Anna was officially the commander for the Order of Heroes, Kiran was their de-facto tactician.

Kiran was… an enigma.

Azama honestly didn’t know if Kiran was a human, artificial or otherwise.

Every time he saw them, it seemed like they were a different person. Their large robes hid the change in their build decently enough, but it was hard to disguise the change in their voice. Some days they were a young boy who spoke in quiet whispers, others a relatively nondescript woman with a voice that sounded like she wished to be anywhere else, and on others a man with a body that rivaled Oliver’s in rotundness accompanied by a deep baritone that made you feel a vague sense of trust. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to which ‘Kiran’ appeared on a given day, and the only constant between them was their personality.

Some days Azama wished that too would change, but he could get to that later.

Looking at Kiran, despite what sometimes should have been an obviously different body, it didn’t always register that Kiran looked any different. It was as if he on some level knew Kiran’s different appearances were all the same ‘person’ even if they may not be the same ‘entity’ but he was unable to recall any separate ‘entity’ beyond the one that was present at that moment.

Perhaps something similar to whatever prevented him from seeing his own duplicates was involved? Maybe the reason why he was able to perceive that there was a difference between the various Kirans was because there was a need to interact with him on a daily basis, and the magic that created blind spots was unable to be as selective as it would need to be to block out those memories?

When it came down to it, Azama couldn’t remember offhand anything specific about any of Kiran’s appearance beyond the robe that covered all but their mouth. The only reason why he seemed to be able to recall that the ‘soft-spoken boy’ Kiran or the ‘jolly, portly’ Kiran had existed was because he remembered that someone else had mentioned those aspects of Kiran on the days those Kirans were the ones that had taken form, and if someone else had noticed it then surely that Kiran had walked the halls of the Order of Heroes at some point.

This was… hard to wrap his head around, and if he hadn’t been able to clear his head of all other thoughts and devote all his effort towards trying to understand it Azama wasn’t confident that he would have been able to work around whatever mechanism it was that seemed to exist to prevent him from remembering anything about it.

He took yet another deep breath before diving back in.

It didn’t seem like different people perceived any given day’s Kiran differently, which lead Azama to believe that Kiran’s body itself changed on a day-to-day basis rather than it being the product of some sort of illusion. He had long ruled out the idea of there physically being multiple Kirans like there were apparently multiple Legions in his world of origin; the consistency in personality across all the different Kirans made it unlikely that they were different people who took turns masquerading as the same person, and speaking in terms of pure practically, there wasn’t enough space in the castle to house enough people to actually pull it off.

Actually…

Kiran had apparently been summoned from a world unlike any anyone else here had ever heard of. At this point Azama was treading further into the realm of speculation than he usually did, but if he functioned under the assumption that his best guess as to the nature of summoned Heroes was true, that would also mean Kiran was an artificial human too.

If Kiran was artificial, it’s possible that something went wrong with the summoning and their physical body was unstable, that could explain why they had no single definite form. After all, Anna had summoned Kiran, but was unable to summon anyone else; perhaps she had somehow botched the summoning ritual and Breidablik rejected her.

On the other hand, it’s possible Kiran was summoned by Breidablik specifically because they had no definite form, or some other unique quality they possessed. Nobody else seemed capable of summoning that utilized Breidablik, so if it was designed to summon -or create, if that was how it worked- someone capable of wielding it would act as a small failsafe towards preventing it from falling into the wrong hands. By preventing anyone who sought its power from wielding it directly there would always be someone capable of preventing Breidablik from being used for nefarious purposes, and if was indeed the intent of its creators they possessed a commendable degree of foresight. Amongst the various regalia of all the worlds Azama was aware of, Breidablik’s capabilities were unparalleled, and had it fallen into the hands of the likes of Veronica or Garon their victories would have been all but ensured.

Breidablik’s might wasn’t something Azama was particularly concerned with, so he turned his train of thought back towards Kiran.

Kiran’s form was a source of doubt for Azama, despite how much they had done to prove their allegiance to Askr. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Kiran was hiding something, despite how much he wanted to trust them. Sure, their tactics were eccentric, but they nonetheless produced results and they-

Azama stopped himself. He wanted to go over that in a bit more detail before he continued.

Kiran clearly liked Celica. It didn’t seem like they were attracted to her per se, but the happiest he had seen them was when she had been summoned, followed behind by when he overheard them overjoyed about her winning something called “Seal 2” and when her ‘fallen’ variant had been summoned, and it was evident by how much combat she saw that they considered her to be a Hero that met their needs the best.

As Faye had so bluntly put it earlier, Azama had been matched with Celica as a ‘support partner’ almost immediately after she had been summoned. There were plenty of other paired units that seemed to be put together more for matchmaking than for combat effectiveness, but Kiran seemed to put him with Celica solely for strategic merit.

Celica’s tome of choice, Ragnarok, increased its destructiveness by a considerable margin if she was at peak condition at the cost of hurting her. This seemed to be how all magic worked in Valentia and while Azama had wondered for some time why Mae and Boey’s tomes didn’t share that functionality, it occurred to him that neither of them used magic that had originated in Valentia. In order to counteract this recoil effect, Kiran had made Celica inherit Renewal from Lissa, but to quell their discontent with the rate at which it healed her they ended up assigning a healer -in this case, Azama himself- to near-constant ‘Heal Celica Duty’ to make up for it.

The other thing that Kiran likely saw in making the two of them a pair was that Azama’s ability to soak up damage covered Celica’s comparatively lacking defenses. Celica also natively had access to ‘Spur Defense’, which when combined with the ‘Defense Tactic’ Seal Kiran decided she would hold made Azama nigh-untouchable to all but the most powerful weapons. He was still vulnerable to mages and dragons, but Celica was able handle them relatively well herself. Celica would rush forward and strike an enemy, Azama would step in front of her to shield her from oncoming attacks and heal her so Ragnarok’s flare-like effect could occur again. Tanking any oncoming hits would increase the damage he would heal with Martyr, and Live to Serve would help bring him as close to maximum health as possible so he’d be ready to act as a glorified meat shield again, so it quickly became clear to both Azama and the rest of the Heroes that Kiran had an innate ability to see the potential that existed within different Heroes. After some prodding from Sharena, even Anna confessed that it wouldn’t have occurred to her that Azama and Celica’s abilities synergized well, though she didn’t react positively to Sharena’s suggestion that Kiran was making Anna obsolete at the Order of Heroes.

This, of course, came to an end when Ragnarok could be refined to remove the requirement for her to have sustained no damage. Though they did their best to hide it from others, Kiran was furious at the fact that all the skills that Celica had inherited were now incompatible with her tome of choice, and her no longer needing to be healed meant that Celica and Azama were rarely deployed together in the few weeks since Ragnarok had received a refine. Their status as supporting Heroes remained, but their days as partners in crime were effectively over.

As for Celica herself, she seemed like a nice enough young lady. Through their time together she had revealed that she had her own fair share of troubles, but compared to the colorful personalities of the royalty of his own world she came off as -for lack of a better way to put it- normal. That wouldn’t exactly be the best way to describe someone who had carried the weight of being the sole survivor of a nation’s royal family on her shoulders for the past decade or so, but the way she bore that burden seemed natural for her, yet in a way that deeply concerned Azama.

Celica, like Azama, was not the kind of person who sought to share their troubles with others. With Azama, this was simply because he accepted that the sources of his troubles were out of his control, but Celica’s silence was the result of sharing her troubles being an action that brought considerable danger upon both herself and her confidant. She had clearly become accustomed to hiding her worries, and Azama couldn’t help but worry she was setting herself up to hastily make an unwise decision because she felt she couldn’t turn to her allies for support.

Saber, the rough-and-tumble mercenary that was part of Celica’s army, had approached Azama shortly after he had been summoned to discuss this with him.

“You’re the guy Celica’s supportin’ with, no?”

“…That’s correct.”

“Has she, uh, discussed stuff with you?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking me.”

Saber’s forwardness, yet roundabout way of wording what he was looking for caught Azama off guard.

“Listen,” Saber leaned in close, prompting Azama to back up against the wall behind him, “The lass clearly has had a lot on her mind, ever since I met her, but she’s never talked about her troubles with me or anybody else. I just wanna know if she’s like that with you.”

“Er… yes, she’s talked about a few things with me, but I don’t think she’d appreciate me sharing them with other people.”

Saber stared at Azama for a moment, before breaking out into a grin, “That’s fine, everyone has their secrets. I’m just happy she’s finally opening up to somebody.”

Saber patted Azama on the shoulder, a little harder than he would have liked.

“Lemme know if you ever wanna hook up with someone. I might be able to help y’out,” Saber said and walked off, leaving Azama to wonder if his relationship with Celica was really that out of the ordinary.

Perhaps she felt comfortable sharing her worries with Azama because he was a holy person like she was, or because he was from a land far removed from her own. Maybe Kiran had put the two of them together so Celica could have a person to vent to so she wouldn’t burn herself out.

Azama realized that this was uncharacteristically sympathetic of him, but he wished he could do something more to help her. She was far from helpless, but she seemed a little too eager to bite off more than she could chew, and a lot of her stress could be alleviated if she was willing to rely on her allies a bit more.

Regardless, Kiran had put a lot of thought and effort into making sure he and Celica would work well together, but there were plenty of other Heroes that were either outright neglected -like the seven or so Tiki that had been sitting around in the barracks for who knows how long- or were trained only for Kiran to turn around and give their skills to somebody else.

While Kiran’s tactics undeniably produced results, their decisions nonetheless seemed to be fueled by their own whims. Back in April they had sacrificed five Heroes in the name of making Shigure able to support a team built around Felicia’s ability to weaken anyone close to the unfortunate soul on the receiving end of her plate and Gunnthra’s ability to capitalize off of those modifications, only to replace him without second thought the moment Ninian’s Bridal variant appeared. Shigure ended up being spared the fate of passing his Torrent Dance to Ninian, but Azama had overheard Kiran discuss with Sharena that the main reason why was because Ninian’s innate Chill Attack fit her role on that team better.

If Shigure was that close to being put on the chopping block, what was stopping the same from happening to Azama himself? Sure, his time at the Order of Heroes had been utterly dreadful so far, but he wasn’t in any rush to find out what happened after a Hero is ‘sent home’. After all, who could be enthusiastic about a process that sounded suspiciously like a euphemism for euthanasia?

Kiran didn’t have an unstable personality, yet Azama couldn’t help but be afraid that they would one day call for his demise. He didn’t want to wax poetic about it, but despite everything that had happened in the past 24 hours, he couldn’t help but want to stick around for a little longer, even if it was just for a few weeks. There were questions that he sought the answer to, and if he was sent back to Hoshido anytime soon he knew he would be haunted by the fact that he’d never learn the truth. Sure, his exhaustion has lead him to yearn for being released from the contract that bound him here, but if he retained his memories the questions that remained would gnaw away at him until he drew his last breath.

Was Zelgius actually looking to repent? Was Lukas as double-faced as he seemed? Were Heroes actually homunculi? What’s the deal with Surtr’s pyromania? Was he just mad, or was his burning desire to scorch the world part of some long-forgotten quest for revenge? Would Celica reach the point where she could be open with another ally of hers before it was too late? Would Shigure get over his stage fright?

And Kiran. Everything about them was a mystery, and no matter how much he focused on the other questions he had about this world, Azama’s mind kept going back to Kiran. Were they a type of Hero like everyone else here? Why did their form change? Did they even know? Was their willingness to invest in certain Heroes and then bench them permanently simply because they had no use anymore, or was this stockpiling of Heroes meant to prepare for some threat nobody else knew was coming? Did they-

“Azama! Are you in here?”

A shout from the real world broke the silence that facilitated Azama’s meditation, shocking him out of his trance.

It was as if fate itself were laughing at him, for the voice that pierced the darkness of night undeniably belonged to Kiran.

‘If I pretend I didn’t hear, maybe they’ll go away.’

Sure enough, a few moments later Azama could hear them rush past the hallway he was stowed away in and he listened as their footfalls faded in the distance.

‘It’s odd how their footsteps always sound the same. Is a person’s gait the product of their soul and not of their body? I suppose that’s just another mystery to-’

Azama’s attempt at regaining his train of thought was interrupted as he noticed the footsteps return, getting louder and louder. He did his best to quiet his body again and prayed Kiran would simply walk past this corridor, but an ‘Aha!’ followed by the footsteps getting uncomfortably closer revealed that Azama’s luck was once again lacking.

‘Goddamnit. I’ll just pretend I’m not awake.’

“There you are! I was looking for-” Kiran stopped talking for a moment, before they started poking his face, “Hey, are you dead? Wrys said he patched you up really well, but if-”

Azama patience ran out, and he furrowed his brow, dropping the charade of being asleep.

“Yes, yes, I am indeed alive,” Azama slowly opened his eyes and flexed his resting limbs, sensation slowly returning to his body, “I thought I finally had found a good place to meditate but I guess this wasn’t out of the way enough.”

The Kiran standing over Azama today was a young man, probably in his early twenties. The shadows of their robes concealed everything above their mouth, but it showed enough that anyone could have seen that they were breathing heavily from half a kilometer away, as if they had been running around for the past few hours.

“Oh? You must have far too much free time on your hands if you’re spending it looking for me in the middle of the night. Why, who am I to deserve it? I’m just a holy man, not worth even the time of day.”

“Hinoka told me about what happened with the bear and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Oh, yes. That. That’s very… touching of you, but do you doubt Wrys’ medicine skills that much?”

“No, not at all. I was concerned that you might have been shaken up by the ordeal. When I was a student, I had once attended school in the middle of the woods so I know how traumatic bear attacks can be,” Kiran extended their hand, “Here, let’s get you off the floor.”

Azama grabbed their hand and pulled himself up, bending back down to pick up the candle that was now nearly burnt out, “Really, I’m alright. The trees did more damage than the bear did.”

“If you say so. Were you meditating here all night? It’s getting close to sunrise.”

“Ah, yes. I checked the library-”

“You should take better care of yourself!” Kiran interjected, “Wrys said he told you to get some rest, and you should have listened to him, especially after what happened yesterday! Let’s head back to your room.”

Without waiting for a response, Kiran grabbed Azama’s hand and started walking back towards the main castle.

“I… don’t really ask for much, Kiran,” Azama sighed, exasperated by the fact that he was being scolded for finally satisfying the one desire he had in this world, “I really only need to meditate, but I haven’t had the chance to since I was summoned.”

Almost as suddenly as they had started walking, Kiran came to an abrupt stop. Despite being unable to see nearly all their face, it was almost painfully obvious that their expression was one of immense disbelief.

“You’ve been here for over a year, Azama.”

“I am aware.”

“And it never occurred to you to ask someone about this?”

“I had asked Anna about expanding the castle a few weeks ago, but it seems she interpreted my request for someplace quiet as a request for another residential wing.”

“That’s still…” Kiran grabbed Azama’s hand again, “Let’s walk as we talk. I could arrange for this to be a residential wing with a strict noise limit, if you think that would help. I don’t think you’re the only Hero who prefers things to be quiet.”

“That-” Azama was struggling to keep up with Kiran’s brisk pace, his body still a touch unresponsive from sitting still for so long.

“But! Before we do anything about that you need to get rest. I’m putting you on medical leave, effective immediately, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Can you even-”

“Of course I can! I decide who gets deployed on missions, after all!”

“You’re really dead-set on this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Kiran looked back to Azama, a warm smile on their face.

Kiran’s smile made Azama feel conflicted about the discomfort he had felt moments ago over Kiran’s ability to rid themself of him. If he hadn’t witnessed it himself it would have been hard to believe that Kiran was both able to send units ‘elsewhere’ and fully willing to without issue, but the fact remained that Kiran either knew something he didn’t or had no qualms over viewing other sapient beings as-

“So, where’s your room?”

Before Azama realized, they had reached the soon-to-be-old residential wing.

“It’s on the south-east end of the second floor. Between the original Hector and Shigure.”

“You’ve been next to Hector? You really,” Kiran put heavy emphasis on that last word, “should have asked to be moved.”

Azama shrugged.

“I wouldn’t have wished that upon anybody else.”

“That’s… I guess you were summoned with Martyr for a reason, huh?

“Could be.”

“Also, ‘original Hector’?”

“There are two of them, right? I’m next to the first one that was summoned, not the one that was summoned during Valentine’s.”

“Most Heroes don’t really make any distinction between the two.”

“They can’t be merged, so they’re not the same individual.”

A loud crash echoed through the corridor as they passed Shigure’s room, prompting Kiran to look back at Azama.

“Speaking of Hector, that was probably him. I’m the next door on the left.”

“You’ve put some thought into this. Is this what you meditate over?” Kiran opened the door to Azama’s room and lead him in.

“Something like that.”

“Is you room usually like-” Kiran’s words came to an abrupt halt.

It took a moment for Azama and Kiran to realize what they had just walked into. Azama’s bed was torn up, the pieces of fabric and stuffing thrown chaotically over what could only be assumed to be the fragmented remains of his desk and chair. The culprit sat in the middle of this mess, gnawing on one of the legs to Azama’s desk.

“Do you have a pet?” Kiran said, referring to the bear that had attacked Azama earlier that had apparently taken it upon itself to trash Azama’s room.

“No.”

The bear turned to look at them and deciding that he didn’t particularly care to see if it was in the mood for a friendly chat, Azama grabbed Kiran and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

They stood outside for a moment, their thoughts as scattered as the remains of Azama’s furniture.

“Why is there a bear in your room?!”

“I really, really don’t know!”

“How does a bear even get onto the second floor? That’s-”

The fact that the urgency of the situation needed the two of them to stop asking questions that could wait until later became painfully apparent as the bear slammed into the door behind them, a small crack forming at the top as if to remind them that they’re under a strict time limit.

“What should we do!?” Kiran’s tone became more and more frantic.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a tactician?!”

“Tactic’s don’t matter when you’re fighting a wild animal! Come up with some-!”

The bear slammed into the door again, and while Azama thanked whoever designed this building for making it open inwards, it wouldn’t hold forever and if putting his body in between the bear and the rest of the world would give them the extra moment they needed to keep it from unleashing its fury, it was a sacrifice Azama was willing to make.

Azama pressed himself against the door, praying it wouldn’t shatter immediately, “Go get Hector, he probably has Armads in his room! We can figure things out from there!”

“Okay!” Kiran ran down to Hector’s door and started pounding on it once they discovered it was locked, “Hector! HECTOR! OPEN UP! HECTOR PLEASE IT’S URGENT HECTOR-”

“What’s with the all the noise?” Azama turned to see Dorcas coming out of his room from across the hall, having clearly been rudely awoken by the commotion.

“THERE’S A BEAR IN MY ROOM!”

“Oh,” Dorcas scratched his head, still half asleep, “Is this a recurring thing for you?”

“DO YOU HAVE YOUR AXE?”

“My axe? No, it’s-”

The bear slammed into the door behind Azama again, causing Dorcas and Azama to jump.

“CAN YOU BREAK DOWN HECTOR’S DOOR?”-

“I’m-”

“THERE’S A BEAR IN MY ROOM, DORCAS! PEOPLE ARE GOING TO DIE!”

“There’s-” as if a switch were flipped, Dorcas face shifted from tired to exhausted, no doubt displeased with whatever twist of fate lead to him being in this situation, “Hector has Armads, right? I’ll see what I can do.”

He walked over to Hector’s room, picked up Kiran from in front of the door and put them down a few steps away. He took a step back, before charging at Hector’s door and breaking it down with a single blow with his shoulder.

“Brigands!” Hector shouted, probably thinking he was under siege back in Elibe in his half-asleep fugue, “You’ll never take me alive! I’ll never go down without-”

“Hector, it’s me,” Dorcas sighed from within Hectors room, “We need you to kill a bear.”

“It’s a little early in the morning to go hunting, no?”

“It’s in the castle.”

“Oho! That’s quite the problem!” Moving faster that Azama thought possible, Hector slid out of his room with Armads in hand, knocking Kiran down in the process, “Where’s the action?”

“Azama’s room,” Kiran said from their newfound position on the floor.

“I see!” Hector’s smile betrayed that he was having a lot more fun than Azama was.

“HECTOR!” Azama yelled, his exclamation punctuated by another slam against the door, “I CAN’T HOLD THIS DOOR FOREVER!”

“Alrighty!” Hector took his stance across the hall from Azama’s room, “Move aside! When that beast breaks down the door I’ll hit ‘em out of the park!”

Azama dove away from the door and scampered to his feet, wondering what the hell Hector meant by that. Dorcas and Kiran now stood outside of Hector’s room and Azama started backing closer and closer to Shigure’s as Hector stared down his door. This moment of silence extended into two moments, and then into three. The serenity of the scene almost lulled Azama into a false sense of security, but before it could set in, his door exploded off its hinges, the bear flying through the air towards Hector.

He stared the wild animal down, time seeming to slow as it grew closer and closer to striking him, but he stepped aside at the final moment, swinging his axe directly into the animal’s gaping maw with such force that it cleanly cleaved through the back of its head and embedded itself deep into the beast’s spine.

The animal let out a ghastly sputter, blood spraying from its mouth before it fell to the ground, the horrid creature finally slain.

“How’s that for a ‘home run’, Kiran?” Hector boomed with a hearty laugh as he pulled Armads out of the corpse, satisfied with what he felt was a job well done.

“Ah, er… they’re usually less messy, but that was quite the grand slam!”

Dorcas looked at Azama and raised an eyebrow. Azama could only shrug in response. It must have been something from the world Kiran came from.

“Your room’s really wrecked though, Azama,” Hector turned to Azama, “where are you going to sleep tonight?”

“Before we deal with that, Hector you…” Kiran looked up and down his blood-spattered body, “probably want to clean up a bit.”

“Sounds good to me!” Hector nodded and ran off towards the baths.

“Dorcas can you go find whoever was on watch tonight and let them know that this’ll need to be cleaned up? We might be able to use the meat, but our highest priority is getting this hallway useable again. I’ll deal with filing the report on this and finding a place for Azama to stay.”

“Might as well if I’m awake,” Dorcas sighed and headed off in search of the nearest authority figure.

Kiran walked over to Azama, carefully stepping around the remains of the bear.

“At least it can’t terrorize you anymore.”

Kiran was right, but Azama was too tired to express joy at the thought.

“You okay?”

“Today’s been a long day and I’m just… exhausted.”

“That’s right,” Kiran brought their hand to their chin, thinking, “there aren’t a lot of places you’d be able to stay in with such short notice, but would you be fine with staying in my room for now? You need to rest more than I do, and I can commandeer a room to take a nap in for a few hours without much problem if I really need to.”

Azama wanted to protest, but after three close encounters with death in quick succession he didn’t have the energy to object.

“Yeah, that’s fine, lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did the bear get into Azama’s room? Bears are tenacious and crafty, and that’s usually all that a wild animal needs to ruin your day.  
> Again, I’ll discuss this chapter in more depth alongside the previous as the final chapter.


	6. The Chapter That Convinced Me To Make This Fic "Mature" And Not Just "Teen And Up"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter: Azama thinks deeply about Kiran, Kiran finds Azama, and together they find a bear in Azama’s room.  
> If the chapter title didn't make it clear, this is your last chance to bail out before this gets into really heavy stuff.

Azama woke slowly, his body still sore. It took a moment for the events of the previous day to return to him, and his confusion at waking up in a strange room was slowly replaced by one of weariness.

He had finally gotten the chance to meditate, but the cost of nearly being mauled negated the benefits it brought him. After the second encounter with the bear, Kiran had brought Azama back to their room and Azama had almost immediately collapsed on the bed and entered the realm of sleep. He could count his blessings that he hadn’t been in his room when the bear decided to have its fun, but was this situation really that much better?

Azama pushed himself up off the bed and took stock of the room.

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows through the large window on the wall behind Kiran’s bed. Azama didn’t know which side of the castle Kiran’s room on so he couldn’t be sure where in the sky the sun actually was, but considering when he had fallen asleep, he probably slept through the whole day.

The room was reasonably furnished; it wasn’t as spartan as Azama’s own room -or rather, Azama’s former room- but it was more modest than he expected the room of this army’s most important person would have been. There was the bed -of course-, as well as a desk and chair not unlike Azama’s own with a stationary set on top, as well as a dresser and a bookcase. Atop the desk sat a new change of clothes for Azama, as well as a note and a parcel.

The situation struck him as not unlike what he had encountered upon first returning to his room last night, so he started with the note, promising himself he’d read all the way through this time.

‘Azama,’ the note read.

‘I hope you’re reading this well rested after what happened yesterday. Since the bear ruined all your clothing I asked one of the tailors in town to make you a few replacements. This one might be a little loose since I don’t know your exact measurements, but Jakob has offered to tailor them once you wake up and I figured a new set of clean clothes would be better than nothing. There’s also some food, since you’ll probably be really hungry.’

‘I’m not sure when you’re going to wake up, but I’d like to talk to you before make yourself impossible to find again.’

That sentence was followed by a crude drawing a person winking.

‘This isn’t really an order, but I’d appreciate it if you’d wait here for me. I’ll check up on you every hour or so, but if you have somewhere to be we can talk later.’

‘Stay safe!’

‘-Kiran’

While he didn’t really want to stick around longer than he needed to, Azama had no pressing matters to attend to and leaving would prompt questions he didn’t want to have to answer. The room was almost unnaturally quiet, so he could pass the time by meditating a bit if the mood struck him, but being in Kiran’s room while sorting through his feelings about them might be more difficult than it otherwise would be.

For now, he’d eat and change his clothes, and then figure out where to go from there.

The package contained a small loaf of bread that was still slightly warm to the touch, as well as an orange and a few pieces of dried meat. It would make for more than just a decent meal, at least, Azama mused. He grabbed the orange, peeled it, and started walking around Kiran’s room.

While the bookshelf was the most notable feature of this room -aside from the unusually large window-, unlike most of the other rooms he’d been in, it seemed like Kiran had gone out of their way to decorate the walls of their room. Attached to the walls were a number of rough sketches of people, and closer examination revealed that they were meant to represent the various Heroes Kiran had summoned, though there were a handful of some that Azama couldn’t recognize despite the attention to detail that had been put into them.

Having finished the orange, Azama went back to the table and grabbed the loaf of bread, tearing off a piece as he returned to the drawings on the wall.

There was a drawing of a young lady who seemed to be using both magic and -of all things- a knife on some unseen enemy, her pose invoking the same kind of assertiveness that Camilla carried herself with while wearing a notably more modest outfit. Beside this sage (or was she some type of magic-using assassin?) was a sketch of a man who was roughly the same age. His claim to fame seemed to be both a physique that dwarfed anyone Azama had ever seen and an outfit that made no attempt at concealing it, and his slicked back hair and chinstrap beard added to his distinct look. There was a note scrawled in the corner of his paper with arrows pointing towards the two of them saying “do NOT separate”.

‘Would that make them a couple? Or was Kiran just playing matchmaker with people who hadn’t even shown up yet? They both seemed to be oddballs but sometimes that’s where a relationship’s chemistry came from.’

Having finished the bread, Azama glanced towards the meat on the desk. While strictly speaking he wasn’t a vegetarian, meat was considered a minor luxury in Hoshido and as a monk he had no problem with foregoing it for months during times of shortage. On the other hand, leaving just the meat would probably just lead to questions from Kiran that he didn’t care to have to answer, so in the long run it might just be easier to literally bite this figurative bullet.

‘I’m still hungry, so I might as well eat it, and the castle probably has plenty of meat to use from the-’

‘Nope!’ Azama interrupted his own train of thought, refusing to finish that thought. He wasn’t going to go there and remind himself of things that would ruin his comparatively good mood.

He grabbed the dried meat and turned back to the sketches on the walls, doing his best to quell any unwanted ideas before they could take root in his mind.

Another illustration that stood out to Azama was the only one that was a close up of anybody’s face. This man, who was drawn in much greater detail than all the other people Kiran had drawn, had a very striking face, and the first word that came to mind when looking at him was ‘sturdy’. His cheekbones and brow were well defined beneath the weathered skin of his face, and the eyebrows above his eyes were bushy and may have evoked the concept of a fiery personality on someone younger. Framing his face was an impressive head of hair that put Prince Ryoma’s to shame as it wrapped down below his chin to form a beard that made the late King Sumeragi’s look modest in comparison. While all of this would normally come off as at least mildly intimidating to Azama, something about how Kiran had chosen to draw this man’s eyes and small smile elicited the opposite emotion. They reminded him of how Wrys’ expression brought about a sense of warmth and safety, and while the rest of the features on this man’s face didn’t exactly scream ‘friendly’ Azama was nonetheless surprised at how, despite all that, this man struck him as someone who was innately good at handling situations that required care.

Of course, this was all disregarding the elephant in the room: instead of ears like Azama’s, this man had two small cat ears poking out of his hair, roughly in line with his eyebrows. Azama had heard rumors of a clan of fox-like humans in the southern mountains of Hoshido, but they apparently had massive, fluffy tails and ears that dwarfed the size of their head, which seemed far removed from the subtlety of this man’s feline features. With the realization that he wasn’t looking at a human, but rather at someone of another race, some of the other parts of his appearance began to make more sense. The way his hair erupted from his face was more like a lion’s mane, and while it was a bit of a stretch, the way his beard grew a little towards his lip could be some type of vestigial whiskers, but that still left the question of who this man was.

The only clue Azama had towards piecing together this man’s identity was a note in the bottom right corner of this portrait, which read ‘King of Red Lions’ with another note below it that said ‘(not a boat)’.

He had no idea what the boat comment meant, but this man did have the demeanor of a king and lion-like features. Perhaps he was the leader of a country inhabited by others of his race? That seemed to be the likely answer, and given that this man was clearly of some importance, Azama could probably confirm his identity by asking around if it ended up being that much of a concern to him.

Switching gears a bit, one of the oldest sketches, which suffered from heavily yellowed paper and faded ink, was of a monocle-wearing mage that could be none other than Canas, who had been summoned in the middle of the past summer. This anachronistic art at first made no sense, since it meant Kiran had known of Canas well before he had been summoned, but it actually might be the final piece needed to solve one of the various mysteries surrounding Kiran.

Now done with the meat and critiquing Kiran’s skills as an artist, Azama returned to the desk and began to change into the newly made clothes that had been prepared for him. He had barely gotten through with removing his prayer beads and headdress before it occurred to him that he had no idea if the door to Kiran’s room was locked, or if it even could be in the first place.

A brief investigation revealed that -for whatever reason- the deadbolt could only be engaged using a key. Having no way of ensuring that nobody could walk in on him, he simply placed a chair up against the door in hopes that it would deter any would-be accidental voyeur long enough for Azama to convey whatever state of undress he was in and resumed swapping out his clothes as he let his mind wander.

Kiran seemed to have some degree of knowledge of Heroes before they were summoned. While this could be an ability granted by Breidablik, there wasn’t any consistency between their level of understanding of any given Hero. As far as Azama could tell, this varied from knowing Ike’s entire life story to only knowing that Ishtar wielded Mjolnir, and if it was indeed information provided by Breidablik, the inconsistency between depth of knowledge would in turn be inconsistent with how every other feature of Breidablik had been so well thought out. Yes, it was possible that the regalia’s creators had limited information on certain Heroes while knowing almost everything about others, but it was vastly more convincing that Kiran had acquired that information elsewhere.

If that was true, where did they get it from?

It’s possible that tales of different Heroes were passed down as legends from the world they hailed from, but that would beg the question of where the legends had come from. While he certainly was curious enough to want to find out the why Kiran knew, the only way to get those answers was to ask them and the idea of going out of his way to interact with them wasn’t exactly appealing.

Putting the final touches on his outfit, which fit him far better than any outfit that wasn’t already custom tailored to his body had any right to, Azama was irritated that he still didn’t know how he felt about Kiran. They evidently didn’t mean anyone any harm, he mused, but anyone who had spent more than half an hour with Corrin would tell you that your intentions and the results of your actions could be two vastly different things. If Azama knew if the whole ‘sending home’ business was ‘death’ or not he could move on from it, but as it stood he had no way to sort through his complicated feelings regarding Kiran without asking them himself. Kiran seemed to be willing to send people home without much thought, and while it would be uncharacteristically malicious of them, it wouldn’t surprise Azama if his query would be met with a “Do you want to find out?” and a sadistic smile.

Musing over the cruelty of fate to have put him in such a position, Azama walked over to the door to move the chair back to the desk. As if taking pity for all that he had been subjected to within the past day and waiting until he was done with all he wanted to do at the moment, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Hello? Azama?” a familiar voice called out, “Are you awake?”

Azama thanked the gods that his reunion with Kiran would be delayed, for the one who stood on the other side of the door was none other than Celica. She would no doubt dote on him, but that was far easier to stomach than the emotional turbulence that being near Kiran would bring about.

“One moment, I need to unblock the door.”

Moving the chair out of the way, Azama went to open the door before a sudden realization stopped him as he was halfway through turning the doorknob.

Celica may be outside, but that didn’t rule out the possibility that Kiran was there with her. Surely they wouldn’t do it deliberately, like some sort of interpersonal trojan horse, but the idea that he would have to face Kiran and Celica together, when he was at his most vulnerable, made him entertain the idea of that it might have been more ideal if that bear had been just a little bit faster, just a little bit more ravenous.

Azama braced himself for the worst and opened the door.

Kiran wasn’t there; it was just Celica.

“Are you feeling better? I heard about how you were attacked by a bear yesterday and wanted to check up on you.”

“Wrys did a good job at treating my wounds.”

“Oh, that’s a relief! I saw the remains of your outfit because I was on garbage disposal duty today-”

‘Of course you were,’ Azama thought to himself, hating how his gut was always right whenever he didn’t want it to be.

“-so I was afraid that the bear roughed you up a bit too much.”

Azama was silent for a moment, wishing his acknowledgement of Celica’s doting had been enough for his discomfort with it to disappear.

“Not that there’s a way to be roughed up by a bear too little, of course,” Celica hastily added, concerned that Azama’s silence was a sign of displeasure with her wording.

“I appreciate the concern, but you needn’t worry yourself over a monk like myself.”

“Now Azama, you shouldn’t think of yourself like that! You’re just as vital to our success as anyone else here! You shouldn’t be afraid of asking for more from people!”

Azama sighed, too tired to hold his tongue on this matter any longer.

“Your scolding would be more effective if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing.”

“Pardon?” Celica didn’t look angry, but rather …surprised, perhaps, that someone may have seen something that she went to great extents to hide.

“I apologize for my curtness, but the way you try to bear everyone’s burdens isn’t healthy. There’s merit in trying to be a saint, but you shouldn’t strive to be a martyr. You’re free to help people all you want but you can’t help people if you burn yourself out.”

“That’s…”

“Your friends are worried about you, Celica. I know you might not be comfortable with revealing-” Azama stopped himself, glancing down the hallway to make sure nobody would overhear him, dropping his voice to just above a whisper before he continued, “with revealing that you’re the last surviving member of the Zofian royal family, but there will come a point in your life where you’re going to be faced with the decision to either rely on your allies or to shoulder it all yourself and if you aren’t realistic with what you can do on your own there’s no guarantee that all the years you spent in hiding will pay off.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t aware that you were that worried about me. I’m sorry that you worried-” Celica paused, before correcting herself, “No, rather, I’m glad that you let me know you felt that way about me.”

“I’ve been playing the ‘hide all your problems from others’ game much longer than you have, and while it’s far too late for me to change my ways I’d hate to see you head down the same path.”

“You’re a really nice person beneath all those layers of sarcasm, you know?”

Azama laughed, “Hinoka made the same mistake when she was looking for retainers and she’s regretted it ever since.”

“You seem to be feeling better, at least,” Celica smiled, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Not really, I’m just waiting for Kiran.”

“Okay, then I’ll be taking my leave. I hope we’ll have the chance to be on the battlefield again soon.”

Azama sighed, shutting the door as the young lady walked away. He normally would have just allowed Celica’s actions to bear whatever fruit they would, but, despite his best efforts, the bond they developed was forged in the fires of combat and it hurt Azama when he saw himself in her. Maybe it was because so many people from the land he hailed from chose to wear their heart on their sleeves, but he felt a sense of kinship between himself and Celica that was unlike anything he had ever felt, but because it was derived from parts of him he understood were inherently bad he couldn’t help but worry that she’d drive herself into a corner that she couldn’t safely get out of. Hopefully she’d reconsider how she went about things after their conversation, but she was at that age where kids just weren’t able to admit to themselves that they aren’t equipped to do what they want to, so Azama was reluctant to believe that she’d take that conversation to heart.

“It’s a shame she might not even remember this conversation when she returns to her world.”

He fell onto Kiran’s bed, allowing his limbs to fall whichever way they so desired as he stared up at the ceiling.

“ _If_ she is returned to her world.”

A moment passed.

“Now that’s a depressing thought I haven’t yet entertained.”

Azama had spend the past year or so at the Order of Heroes functioning under the assumption that when the day came he would be freed from his torment, but what if he wouldn’t? Azama had, in the span of less than a day, had gone from tired of this world to absolutely exhausted, and the idea he could never escape? Dreadful.

 While he personally hadn’t noticed it in regards to himself as a man in his late 30s, the younger Heroes hadn’t aged a day since they had been summoned. Using the homunculus explanation, it would be easy to rationalize that oddity, but Sharena and Alfonse, natives to Askr who were in the prime of their adolescent years as well, hadn’t changed a single bit either. Did that mean that Azama wouldn’t be able to wait for old age if all other means of escape failed? Would he have to rely on the off-chance that Kiran would chose to free him themself? Sure, the idea of a world where nobody aged sounded utterly hellish, but Alfonse had spent many a day lamenting how he wished to return to when he and Zacharias were younger, indicating that at some point in the past people in Zenith aged. Time still flowed, as the early spring he had been summoned during gave way to summer, which flowed into autumn, then winter, then back to spring and now into the blazing hot summer they were currently subjected to, but it seemed as if it flowed independently from-

Azama stopped himself, backpedaling a bit to address something far more pressing than that.

“Oh boy, there’s a fun thought.”

Was this hell?

Was this some sort of afterlife meant to punish Azama? Plenty have said that ‘hell is other people’, and while Azama wouldn’t rule out the idea of him having done something he couldn’t remember that would justify the ordeals he had gone through over the past year and a half, there were plenty of people here who Azama simply couldn’t imagine being worthy of eternal torment.

Zelgius had almost indubitably committed some grievous sin, and maybe Katarina’s murky past involving an attempted regicide was enough to be put here by whatever higher power deemed it so, but what about Nino, who was too young to have willfully committed anything wrong? What about Wrys, who was as close to a literal saint as you could get? Perhaps the only requirement for entrance into this land of suffering was to have killed someone, regardless of the context? Everyone here had participated in a war of some kind, but there were people, like Hector, who didn’t seem to mind living in this world. Could it be a personal hell custom tailored to be as insufferable as possible to Azama, with other Heroes being mere constructs based on people trapped in a distant, far off hell of their own? Was-

Azama emerged from the depths of his thoughts, noticing the sound of someone rushing down the hallway. His line of thought had gotten more a little ridiculous for a moment there, but the telltale hustle of their footsteps betrayed who it was.

‘Wow, I sure do hope that’s not who I think it is.’

They stopped right outside, gently knocking on the door.

“It’s unlocked.”

“Oh, you’re awake?” Kiran let themself in, confirming Azama’s suspicions, “That’s great! How are you feeling?”

“Too tired to pretend to be better.”

“That understandable.”

Today, like every day before, Kiran seemed to be a woman, probably roughly his own age. Her voice was assertive, almost commanding, but it softened slightly as she spoke to Azama.

‘Of course,’ Azama corrected himself, knowing to not trust his own memories on this matter, ‘They surely were someone else entirely yesterday.’     

“How do the clothes fit?”

“Almost too well. You didn’t measure me in my sleep, did you?”

“Of course not!” Kiran laughed as they brought the chair Azama left by the door back to the desk and sat down, facing Azama, “I’d never betray your trust like that.”

‘Do I actually trust you?’ Azama asked himself, hating how he couldn’t find an answer.

A moment passed.

“Celica was looking for you earlier; did you get the chance to talk?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s a nice girl, that one. Maybe a bit too nice for her own good, if I had to pass judgement.”

‘Do you know why she’s like that? Is that why we’re supporting?’

“Did you do that on purpose?” Azama broke the silence this time.

“Do what?”

“Put us together because of that. She’s like I was when I was younger, except far more eager to save everyone, and I’ve been trying to figure out if you were trying to have me serve as some sort of cautionary tale to get her to realize the danger of her ways before it’s too late for her to change.”

Kiran shifted in their seat, pausing before responding.

“I wasn’t really aware of what you were like when you were younger. Celica needs to be healed after using Ragnarok, and your defenses can cover-”

“Yes, yes,” Azama interrupted, not caring to hear the rest of a spiel he was all too familiar with, “I do love acting as a meat shield, as you know. Are you some kind of lowkey sadist?”

“I-,” Kiran held their tongue for a moment, “You’re not usually this snappy, would you like more time off?”

‘Oh, really?’

“I’m exhausted, and pity isn’t going to help. Being here has taken a lot out of me, but I still want to talk, the two of us, one on one. I want answers, really, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get any if I let this chance slip through my fingers.”

“I’ll tell you whatever I can. It’s the least I could do for you.”

“Then answer my question.”

“Ah, right. Me being a sadist. I apologize if it came off that way, but I don’t enjoy making you suffer. You have defenses that rival Hardin’s and I didn’t want to let that go to waste.”

“Hardin wears armor, I don’t.”

“That is… true. I can deploy you less often, if you’d prefer.”

‘Combat is less monotonous that just waiting around to die; would I regret taking them up on their offer?’

“I’ll get back to you on that. Going back a bit, you do know some things about Heroes before they’re summoned, no? Why?”

Kiran remained silent, their mouth contorting as they tried to find some way to weasel their way out of answering.

“Are you really going to go back on your word that quickly?” Azama was too tired to feel angry, but he did his best to let Kiran know he wasn’t happy with their silence.

“I’m sorry, Feh really doesn’t want me talking about that.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Azama let out an exasperated sigh, “Is it because the truth is too hard for us mere mortals to bear? The way she talks about ‘Heroes of Legend’ and ‘people of a far off world’ so much that it’s not hard to piece together enough of the picture. After all, while it would make sense for legends to be passed down within their worlds and maybe even worlds a few outrealms apart, but in a world so ‘far off’ that it has almost nothing in common? The answer is almost painfully obvious, Kiran.”

“That’s-”

“I don’t care if I end up being some fictional character in your world. It’s out of my control, and what matters to me is that I’m real in _this_ world. If you can’t tell me the truth, that’s fine. Those drawings on your wall tell me more than enough; you knew things you couldn’t have, and that information had to come from somewhere.”

Kiran, once again, remained silent. It was clear that they were conflicted about this, but

“If you want a definite answer, you can confront Feh. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you any more than this.”

“Fine. Speaking of which, who are they?”

“The people I drew?”

“Yeah. I recognized Canas and a few others, and there was someone who could be Yukimura, but I didn’t recognize most of them, like that knife mage and that man you called the ‘King of Red Lions’.”

“Knife mage?” Kiran looked at Azama, dumbfounded for a moment before they let out a laugh, “That’s one way of describing her. Do you want the short answer? I can talk about them for hours.”

“In the grand scheme of things, I don’t really care.”

“They’re people from various worlds that I’d like for us to be able to summon one day. The ‘knife mage’ is Calill, a sage from Tellius, and the man next to her is Largo, her husband. The lion-like man is a Laguz from-”

“Hold up. What’re Laguz?”

“Oh, right, I keep forgetting. Unlike most other lands, Tellius has two major races, Beorc, who are humans like us, and Laguz, who have the ability to transform into a more ‘animal like’ form in a way similar to the Manakete from Archanea. There are a bunch of subspecies of Laguz that can transform into different forms, like Ravens or Dragons, and when-” in a rare moment of self-awareness, Kiran stopped themself, “I’ll spare you the details, since we aren’t even able to summon Laguz right now. That man is Caineghis, the king of the country Gallia and he is a Lion Laguz.”

“Should I ask why he’s ‘not a boat’?”

“In another world that’s a boat with that same title.”

“Right-o. You like Tellius a lot, it seems.”

“Its history and how its political climate has changed throughout the years has fascinated me for quite some time.”

“Mhmmm,” Azama mumbled in acknowledgment, taking a moment to gather his thoughts again.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. Are Heroes actually pulled from other worlds, or are they ‘created’ using the ‘originals’ as a type of blueprint?”

Kiran put their hand to their chin, deep in thought.

“That’s not something I’m equipped to answer, sorry. We still haven’t learned a lot of things about how summoning works, but if I find out you’ll be the first to know.”

“It’s not that big of a problem; I exist as an entity of some form right now, and that’s enough for me. I guess that means you don’t know what happens to Heroes after they are consumed during skill inheritance, nor after they are ‘sent home’ or used to make combat manuals, huh?”

“We don’t. Again, I’m sorry.”

“Of course not,” Azama sighed, realizing he actually said that out loud a few moments later.

“I take it you’re concerned about what happened to the Wrys, Zelgius, Lukas, and Camilla who gave you their skills?”

“In a way. I’ve thought about it as much as I can with what I know now, and while they all consented to it, it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“I don’t have any answers for that. Maybe it’s because my work back where I came from required me to sacrifice other living beings for what some called ‘the greater good’, but maybe your distaste for it indicates that you’re a little more human than the rest of us.”

“‘More human’, huh? That’s a concept that can sour easily.”

“…Yeah.”

“You don’t seem to have most of the answers.”

Kiran looked away, frowning slightly.

“I guess. I wish I could help you with this, Azama, but different people have different ways of looking at things and trying to guess how you should feel isn’t going to improve things.”

The air in the room had grown heavy, making Azama wish he could just sink into the bed and disappear. Kiran was taking this seriously, which Azama appreciated, but the lack of answers was frustrating.

“What did you do back home?”

“I did cellular res-” Kiran stopped themself again, “Sorry, I’ve been here for a year and a half now and I still haven’t gotten used to the fact that everything is so different. I researched new types of medicine, which sometimes required me to test them on …very small creatures.”

“Oh, right, the world you came from doesn’t have magic.”

“Being able to heal people with the wave of a hand would be convenient, but we made up for it in our own way.”

“By killing other things? That’s quite the morbid take on the meaning of ‘equivalent exchange’.”

“That wasn’t something I enjoyed, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

They sat in silence for a moment, giving Azama ample time to summon the willpower to ask his next question.

“Speaking of which, you’ll be freeing me of my time here at some point, right?”

Kiran turned back to Azama, surprised that the conversation had shifted in this direction.

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, of course, the final release, the goodbye, the farewell, the ta-ta and toodle-oo,” Azama tried to stop himself there, but the words kept flowing, “I’ve grown tired of this place, and yet I have no way of leaving. Letting myself get mauled by a bear will only make me suffer, and if I fall in battle I’ll just be revived here. Heroes don’t age, so I can’t even just wait for my time to be up, which leaves my only way out of this place in the hands of you.”

Kiran remained silent, prompting Azama to turn his head towards the window.

“I want to go home, Kiran. The bear was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. I haven’t enjoyed a single moment of my time at the Order of Heroes and I just want out. It took me an eternity to be able to successfully meditate, and it only made me realize how much I don’t want to be here. The only moment of peace I have is when I’m asleep, but it’s hard to even view that as a positive thing when it’s just a fleeting moment of unconsciousness between one hell and the next.”

Azama took a deep breath before continuing.

“The only thing getting me out of bed for the past year and a half was the hope that maybe that day would be the day that I’d meditate away my problems but when that day came it didn’t bear fruit! All my waiting was for nothing! When will you let me out of this hell, Kiran?!”

“Azama, I-,” Kiran paused, choosing their words carefully, “I’d like a moment to think my answer through, if you don’t mind.”

“Take your time.”

“I didn’t realize you were this depressed. I’m… hesitant to send you home on such short notice, since I want to be sure it’s what you really want, but if you’d let me I’d like to do whatever I can to make your time here more enjoyable. It’s my fault, as summoner, that your problems have grown to this point and I’d like to do what I can to make up for that.”

Azama sank deeper into the bed, too tired to move into a more comfortable position.

“Why do you do this? Why do you force yourself to care about me?” Azama felt the emotions build up, the sorrow, the agony, begging to be released in a flood of tears that his body had long forgotten how to produce, “Why did you invest so many resources into me? Why did you deploy me every chance you got? Why are you so intent on keeping me here?”

Kiran remained silent long enough for Azama to start bracing himself for an answer he wasn’t going to like.

“I like you, Azama.”

For a moment, Azama felt a flash of rage.

“I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

“Azama, please, hear me out,” Kiran begged, “I’m not attracted to you, this isn’t me proposing to you without warning, but I do enjoy your presence. You’re the only person who remotely down-to-earth here, even if you do everything you can to hide your own thoughts. You’re the only person who I feel I can have a decent conversation with, and without you I feel that the Order of Heroes would be incredibly lonely no matter how many Heroes I summoned.”

Kiran’s pace picked up, not giving Azama a chance to butt in.

“I’m out of my element here, Azama. I’m an unfathomable distance away from my home, and you’re the only person here remotely like anyone I knew before coming here. Where I came from, the idea of warfare was so far removed from daily life that it was easy to forget the nation I was from had been at war with somebody else in one form or another since its inception two hundred years ago. I never thought I’d have to participate in one, much less lead an entire army on my own! I’m constantly in terror of the fact that I could make one wrong move and this entire world would be doomed because some war criminal is going to be able to run free! I do my best to make seem like I have things together for morale, but I don’t! I feel like I’m juggling a bushel of babies on a tightrope and I have to pretend that it’s as natural to me as breathing! But I can look to you and your presence is stabilizing. You’re the one point of familiarity I have in this world and even if Hoshido couldn’t be any more different from my land I see you and even if it’s for the briefest of moments I don’t feel like I’m performing in a circus from OSHA’s nightmares. I know this is selfish of me, and I’m sorry; I know that this isn’t what you want to hear, and I’m sorry, but for my own sanity I need you to let me help you because if you go away I’m afraid everything is going to fall apart. I’d love if I could pretend this was me, as someone who had been trained as a doctor even if I never went down that path, objecting to allowing you to end your own life without serious consultation, or if I could pretend this was me wanting you to not give up hope just yet, but in the end I feel like I’ve become so dependent on your presence that the mere idea of you not being here makes already makes me sick to my stomach.”

Azama stared at Kiran for what felt like an eternity as he tried to process what they had just said. There was a lot to unpack, as he didn’t realize that Kiran was hiding as much from him as he had from them.

Kiran was the first to break eye contact, flustered.

“I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have-”

“Give me a moment to digest all that before you apologize for the 80th time tonight.”

Kiran took a deep breath in and, after holding it for longer than Azama felt could have been healthy, slowly let it out.

“That’s fine. Go ahead.”

Azama took a few deep breaths of his own in an attempt to clear his head.

Kiran had been panicking when they were talking, that much was clear. Despite their apparent fixation on Azama as a way to stay emotionally grounded, they also seemed to make an honest attempt at respecting Azama as a person. They hadn’t forced themselves onto him, gave him plenty of space, and even seemed genuinely concerned for his wellbeing after everything that had happened in the past day.

Could that all have been to manipulate Azama into trusting them?

Sure, Azama couldn’t rule that out. People who wanted to hide their intentions frequently were more likely to reveal them, but Kiran didn’t send out the same warning signs Lukas did. Above all, Azama trusted his ability to judge people, and Kiran, by all appearances, didn’t seem like a bad person.

And even if Kiran was some sort of manipulative stalker secretly trying to coerce him into staying, did that change the fact that Azama could gain things from this? He hated to be pragmatic about relationships, but he’s at his wits end and if exploiting Kiran’s attachment to him would lead to his quality of life improving he could deal with whatever guilt he felt over it when he encountered it.

In truth, he did not seek the release of death as desperately as his wording suggested. The lack of knowledge of what occurred once a unit was sent home made it far more of a risk than plain old suicide back in Hoshido; if a Hero who was sent home only lost their physical body and was forever trapped to wander the world as a spirit, unable to interact with the world they were bound to and unable move on, how could he view that as an improvement? The ‘great unknown’ was truly unknown, and the safest option for bettering his circumstances was to try to control the world around himself. Up until now he had no means to do so, but Kiran, as the de facto leader of the Order of Heroes, might be the only person here able to help.

If nothing else, it was worth trying out.

Azama propped himself up on the bed, his body aching from sitting still for so long. He stretched, letting out a contented sigh as blood began to flow through his limbs again.

“We both just said some things in the heat of the moment that we probably wouldn’t have had we been calmer.”

Kiran nodded in agreement, waiting for Azama to continue.

“I feel,” Azama spoke slowly, each word carefully picked so they couldn’t be misconstrued, “that there has been a lack of communication between us.”

Kiran nodded again, since it couldn’t have been truer. Before today, Kiran and Azama had barely spoken of matters unrelated to combat. In part it had been because Kiran was nearly constantly occupied by some important matter only a summoner could handle, but Azama couldn’t deny that he had made an effort to avoid them due to his complex, unresolved feelings over units being sent home.

“Before I say anything else, I need you to understand that I do not, in principle, want to die. Death is only a means by which I would be escaping this infernal world.”

Azama paused, giving Kiran time to process that.

“However, I cannot be sure that being sent home actually sends me home, nor can I be sure that it actually kills me. In essence, ‘suicide’ isn’t guaranteed to give me the result I seek, and because it is an irreversible process I find the risk involved too much.”

Azama took a deep breath, knowing that what he was going to say next was a point of no return.

“Because of that, I am willing to take you up on your offer to help me.”

Kiran noticeably perked up beneath their robes upon hearing that.

“However!” Azama interjected Kiran’s growing sense of relief, having yet to complete that though, “However, I will not rule out the possibility that at some point in the future I will want to be sent home. I need to know that if that day comes you’ll permit my release.”

“I’m… I can’t commit to that right now. I’m sorry.”

“Kiran, I’m going to be honest with you. I understand that you’re attached to me, but you need to realize that being that fixated on anybody to that level isn’t healthy. What if I fell ill and no cure could be found in time? What if whoever we have to face next, be it Loki or someone else, finds a way to kill Heroes for good? Even if-”

“I know,” Kiran didn’t wait for Azama to finish, “I’m well aware. I don’t want to force my problems on to you, but it’s a habit I’ve been trying to get rid of for over a decade and without realizing it I started to depend on you, and I’m sorry for that.”

“We evidently both have a lot of issues, Kiran. If nothing else, we can talk though things and try to resolve them.”

“You shouldn’t have to be my therapist. This was supposed to be me helping you, I can’t even-”

“Speaking to you, before I brought up sending me home, was the closest I’ve come to any degree of catharsis since I was summoned. It helped me, Kiran, and if I were less exhausted, I may have actually enjoyed our talk. Talking to others about your problems can be therapeutic, and I have no problem with you getting that out any chats we have.”

“I don’t-”

“We all have this problem, Kiran. You, me, and Celica. We all want to be selfless and help people and deal with their problems, but we all pretend that we don’t have any of our own until it becomes too much to bear and we break down right when it’s vital for us to maintain our composure. You clearly realize this is a problem you have, and I can’t, in good faith, allow you to help me at such a cost to yourself.”

Kiran shifted in their seat, but Azama refused to give them the opportunity to deny what he was saying.

“You shouldn’t let yourself be troubled by the idea that we’d be separated. You’ve clearly grown fond of me, but if you want to give me more of your time, I’d like to give you more of my time in turn, not less.”

Azama let out a long sigh.

“We’re both adults. I need you, as my superior officer, to, after admitting that you can’t do this on your own, be willing to let people help you. Is that unfair of me to ask?”

Kiran remained silent for a long time.

“No, not at all. You’re… right. We’ve holed ourselves up in our own shells and refused to allow others to share the burdens we shoulder, whether we meant to or not. We both let problems grow until they became unbearable without doing anything about them, and that’s how we got to this point.”

A single tear rolled down Kiran’s face.

They wiped it away, but another came to take its place.

And another.

And it quickly turned into a steady flow of tears as they cupped their head in their hands.

“Oh god,” they managed to get out between sobs, “I really thought I was alone here. I was about to give up, to just…. I don’t know. But all I, all we had to do was reach out to someone. That was it, that was all I needed to do and I just didn’t. I didn’t even try.”

“All we can do is try.”

Azama wrapped his arms around Kiran, hugging them closely as their sobbing slowly receded.

“And if things don’t work out?” He continued.

Kiran looked up at Azama, their hood still concealing all but their mouth and chin. The tears had stopped, but it was evident that they, like Azama, were still recovering from the sudden burst of unpleasant emotions they experienced earlier.

“At least we tried.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned in the first chapter, there's a significantly lower character limit on chapter notes, and I won't be able to fit all I wanted to say in here (which might be a sign that I have too much to say :^U), but you've reached the end! Thanks for sticking around!


	7. The "Chapter" That Should Have Been The End Note For Chapter 6 But Couldn't Be Because It Was Too Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Your notes are too long! Say fewer things!" cried AO3.  
> "I refuse!" I yelled back.

Thanks for sticking with this until the end! Before I get into the really heavy retrospective/explanation stuff, I’d like to say that since this is my first time doing something along these lines (both as a work designed to be multichapter and as something more than 5k words), I’d appreciate feedback on it way more than usual.

I wanted to explore a few different things with this piece, so the end result is a little all over the place, but in the end I’m satisfied with how it came out, especially for a first attempt at completing something this long. This is going to be… very long for an author’s note, primarily because I’d like to go into what I was trying to do a bit more than I usually would since this entire piece was Just That Long, but unless you have some burning question and don’t want to ask me directly it’ll basically be entirely optional.

 

Chapter 1, like first chapters are wont to do, outlined a few things about the setting that might not be inherently true about my vision of Fire Emblem Heroes’. There’s not much more to it.

I was particularly interested in how healers worked both in and out of battle, so Chapter 2 spends a lot of time going over Wrys would heal people outside of battle, but I still tried to use it to hint towards Azama’s complex feelings regarding something (it's the skill inheritance). The general headcanon behind Chapter 2 is that healing staves are a more “let’s patch up this wound quickly because blood loss isn’t fun” measure instead of something with an actual (magical) pharmacological effect; they can close wounds to prevent infection, but if you already got some nasty bacteria or something in it it’s not going to do much to help you (which would be why special staves are needed to deal with status effects).

The scene with Faye served both to establish Celica as Azama’s Support partner, and to formally introduce the fact that Heroes are aware of the various unit management systems to some extent, like (in that case) supports. Mentioning Feh in the notes of that chapter was somewhat of a red herring to misdirect you away from expecting Kiran to be the character who threatens the existence of the fourth wall (while Feh, in turn, seeks to maintain it).

How did Thajra find out about Fomortiis and why did she want to summon it? There’s no specific answer to that; I came up with a few ideas but none of them really enhanced Azama’s Quest For Enlightenment so I left it open ended.

 

As I mentioned earlier, Chapter 4, 5, and 6 were planned to be a single chapter, but I got roughly 10 paragraphs into chapter 5 before telling myself that I couldn’t ask anyone to try to power through a single 10k+ word chapter. Chapter 4 kind of just…. keeps going and going and going, but I did my best to make it as interesting as I could and make the thought process seem at least somewhat natural. The meditation part of Chapter 5 was where I feel I was able to make it a bit more engaging, since Kiran’s shapeshifting thing is actually something that isn’t present in the games (which I’ll talk about in a moment), but I feel that in five years or something I’ll look back and see places across both chapters where I could have done a lot better (which is good, since it means I’m improving).

Chapter 5 was where stuff started to happen again! Yay! I swear, Dorcas doesn’t get paid enough for the stuff he gets put through. Kiran, the focal point of nearly all of Azama’s problems, makes their entrance here, and the bear from Chapter 1 also rears its ugly head. I tried to use Hector picking up phrases from Kiran as a way to introduce/reinforce the idea that Kiran was undeniably out of place at the Order of Heroes, but I don’t know how well I was able to communicate it before the super long paragraph in Chapter 6.

Regarding Chapter 6, Celica actually wasn’t going to appear in this at all but halfway through writing Chapter 5 I realized that how I was writing Azama (a bitter person who uses his ‘I have control over nothing, so nothing matters’ worldview as a means of hiding the fact that he’s a deeply troubled man from both himself and from others) was vaguely similar to Celica’s primary coping technique in canon of “oh no nothing’s wrong I can deal with this myself when the time comes”, and how it backfires horribly. This was 1000% unintended when I made them support each other (I explained why during chapter 5), but I do think they could have a kind of stable ‘mentor’/’student’ relationship in canon if it came down to it. The other thing to note about Chapter 6, I guess, is that up until I had actually written it I had been planning on giving it a more unreciprocated romantic slant, but I felt it would be more interesting/less contrived for Kiran to also have the whole “hide your problems from others until they go away” habit and have that be the means by which Kiran and Azama would bond. I’ll talk more about Kiran in a bit.

You could probably piece this together since I basically spelled it out for you but at the time I started writing this, the build I ran on Azama was Steady Stance 3/Live to Serve 3/Savage Blow 6, Dazzling Pain+/Martyr+/Solid-Earth Balm. I’ve since changed Solid-Earth Balm to Heavenly Light (rip Wrys x2 combo) since it worked better for what I needed for the team I ran him on before Ragnarok’s refine completely changed how you should build and support Celica (>:^O), but he's also still super useful in Rival Domains.

 

I won’t try to sell you on it since (non-Veronica) healers in FEH are, to my immense displeasure, still stupidly niche units even after the 2.0.0 update and this build is also Stupidly Expensive for what you get out of it but I had enjoyed using that build quite a bit since he would hit, like, 60 def when adjacent to Celica and that’s the antithesis of what most healers in RPGs are.

I sacrificed a Lukas to give Azama Fortress Def shortly before the 2.0 update, but since Steady Stance always activates when Azama takes direct damage due to Dazzling Pain (and has a higher defense boost and no attack debuff anyway), I ended up swapping the two. Oops. At least I got the chance to explore Lukas a bit out of it.

 

On the topic of Lukas, Azama’s perception of Lukas might seem a little weird, so I figure I should explain why he sees him as more than just a ‘sweet cheesecake boy’. A lot of people who went into Echoes blind seemed to think that Lukas was going to betray the party at some point and, having played Gaiden prior, I had to ask myself why they would be getting those vibes from him. I ended up finding an answer I was satisfied with (which you’ll have to wait for my next major piece to find out), but it occurred to me that since I have written Azama to be hyperperceptive of others he would probably pick up on those vibes as well and come to an answer of his own.

 

In terms of Heroes’ chronology, my original intention was to write this as something that was occurring back around the 2.0.0 update last November (which would have been relevant to the story solely since it expanded your ally capacity automatically), but I ended up scrapping that roughly around when I had gotten to the middle of chapter 2 in favor of making it up-to-date for around whenever I ended up publishing it. While I generally followed the update schedule to establish the sequence of events in FEH’s world, I toyed around with the timeline a bit to get, among other things, Micaiah present for the Black Knight’s (first) tempest trial. As a type of self-imposed challenge I also initially tried to stick to using characters I had personally summoned at the time of the 2.0.0 update, but I ended up taking some liberties with who was present in order to move things forward and also avoid feeling like I was flaunting who I had already pulled.

 

Let’s talk about Kiran next, since they’re the other big divergence (or ‘alternate reading’) from Heroes’ systems. Kiran, Kiran, Kiran. What was I trying to do with Kiran? The unstable appearance thing was an alternate reading of how Kiran’s design is meant to make them as close to a perfect ‘blank slate’ for players to project onto as possible, where in-universe their lack of a canon ‘identity’ is a literal lack of a static ‘identity’. Kiran’s real-world backstory is loosely based off of a colleague of mine (with permission, of course), and their reactions to being suddenly transplanted into Heroes are based off of what mine might be (I would not enjoy it but I would still Do My Best).

Like with Tharja’s motivation for summoning Formortiis and the ‘true’ mechanics behind most of the things Azama meditated over, how Kiran is like this is meant to be open ended, but I did intend for it to be a quality that Breidablik favors in a summoner. I specifically tried to allow for a variety of explanations, some of which I borrowed from other series and while I feel bad about not being able to shout out those series specifically, the fact that those series have a character that this would apply to in any way is (unsurprisingly) a major spoiler. On the other hand, maybe it’s just something like Xane’s literal shapeshifting ability.

Uhhhhhhhh, here's a dumb idea. I'll credit the ideas I was drawing from when I was writing Kiran, but I'll use a ROT13 cipher (google it) so you can choose to spoil yourself if you _really_ want to. I won't name the two characters I was thinking of by name nor explain how they work, but knowing this applies to these series is, again, a massive twist especially for the first one I was thinking of.

V fcrpvsvpnyyl jnf gelvat gb nyybj sbe fbzrguvat yvxr Gur Qrnq Fghqrag sebz Fnlbanen Mrgfhobh Frafrv naq nyfb fbzrguvat yvxr Mreb'f Nffvfgnag va gur Cuv raq bs Iveghr'f Ynfg Erjneq.

 

A bushel of babies is roughly 9 to 10 babies.

 

There’s a pretty clear shift in tone in Chapter 6 both through Azama’s (somewhat sudden, but hopefully foreshadowed enough for it to be justifiable) desire to be ‘sent home’ and Kiran appearing and also very much not enjoying being summoner (primarily due to being de facto tactician). This wasn’t exactly the direction I expected this to go in when I started writing it, but I’m ultimately something I’m satisfied with. Azama’s ways of dealing with stressors weren’t healthy, and Kiran’s (and Celica’s, but she’s not the focus of this piece) weren’t either. I wasn’t exactly trying to make it ‘gritty’ or ‘an aesop’ or anything, but especially with Kiran, shitty coping techniques can leave you worse off in the long term.

Along a similar line of thought, I wanted to highlight that Azama’s alleged ‘hyper-perception’ and ability to think things through completely missed the fact that Kiran was also kinda not doing so great. He doesn’t ‘fancy himself an academic’ or anything, but he nonetheless trusts his ability to perceive (which I outright stated in chapter 4) to the point where he was shocked that there was something so major that he hadn’t picked up on. He was single-mindedly focused on what he thought he knew worked that he failed to notice that it wasn’t working and that he had other resources available to himself.

Such is the folly of man.

While the overarching theme of this story is centered around coping techniques and the lack thereof, there’s no specific ‘moral’ or 'takeaway' I was shooting for with this ending, so make of it what you will. If nothing else, consider this a suggestion to look at how you cope with things, and, if possible, try to gradually replace ones that aren't so healthy with ones that are.

 

 

If you haven’t read Azama’s 5* level 40 conversation, which I based the ending and a number of other things in this off of, here it is:

Ah, it is you! I should have known from the ever-busy pitter-pat of your footsteps. You must have far too much free time on your hands if you’re always spending it with me. Why, who am I to deserve it? I’m just a holy man, not worth even the time of day. Now, speaking of free time, do you plan to ever free me of my time here with you? I mean, of course, final release. The good-bye. The farewell. The ta-ta and toodle-oo! I shouldn’t let myself be troubled by the idea that we’d be separated. But I’ve grown fond of you. I’d like to give you more of my time, not less. So please, don’t give me any of that sort of free time-not for years and years. All right?

 

I had received Azama’s 5* level 40 conversation, as of the time that I’m writing this, roughly 300 days ago (coinciding with the 2.0.0 update). It struck me as odd that Azama was openly acknowledging that units are ‘released’ from their contract from time to time, and he seemed almost uncharacteristically fearful for his life. I made a quick joke about it with some friends, left it at that, and then a few months later decided I wanted to revisit the concept after I had started to more seriously write fanfiction again.

In the end? I’m glad I did. This took forever to complete and ended up not being anything like how I thought it would be (for starters it was supposed to be, like, three chapters at max), but I had a lot of fun doing it and even if I look back on this in a few years and cringe to the moon and back about how I chose to execute some things, it’s still something I feel I can be proud of right now.

Again, thanks for sticking with this until the end!

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll be saving most of my commentary until the end, but I’ll still do my best to cover some of the more urgent things I feel the need to explain or comment on.  
> For the most part, I’m writing this as if it’s happening when I originally post it and that the sequence of events within Heroes’ world corresponds to updates within the game, but I toy with the timing of some things in order to make the plot flow a little better. You’ll probably figure out where that happens on your own, but I’ll discuss it (and most other things) in depth as the last chapter (the character limit for notes is somewhat... inconvenient).  
> Long things take a long time to write (did you know Microsoft Office keeps track of the total time a document has been open?), so there might be a few things that seem out of date that I ended up missing when I went back through this to update it, and a few things that might seem pretty obviously added in after the fact.  
> Did you know stress and sudden exertion can induce vomiting? That’s why Azama spends a few paragraphs emptying his stomach. Ew.  
> Parts of this chapter were inspired by something that almost happened to me in middle school and a shitpost that I had written elsewhere. Can you guess which? (it’s the bear encounter)


End file.
